Fogive me, all men of mandela
against the mystery of this vision
written beside the tree of river pishon
You asked for an elergy note
pleading like a dying angel
of rounding journey with our tired earth
racing first before your final breath
Remembering in prison yard
where white termites teaches truth with apatheid
our prophet of freedom
enduring pains for his beloved kins men
and they killed you thousand times
but you never die
writting the poetry of humiliated hawk
against the egret nest of injustice
And i held the drum in circle
with your toe pating the heart of dust
to and fro like a possesed pujari slave
calling foes neck to strain
and we all chant:
hail to our great dancer!
and kudos to the prophet of love
O! Dance, dance it the more
the rhythm of freedom
Let moonlight catches your spleen
and paste it in our forever heart
the world is waiting
the hopeless ones you fought for
tending teenager soul
for your youthful grimace
But suddenly, the jigging ground
turned to a river of death
and the nightfall you cared much for,
is no longer giving you darkness
milion suns bowing to mourn
with different mourners in black garment
parading the street un wailing tears
O! the ghost is gone
the racing hero; funeral of giant spirit
when my drum thus speak in dirge:
''REST IN PEACE THERE SOON
LIKE IN THE DAYS OF SILENT JUNE''
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
now my poetic prophecy is fulfiled. Adieu Our Nelson