He loved to read and write
He was in love but never was able to write about love
A prophet of doom they said he was
But to himself he was a realist and not an arrivalist
Many young people to him came they for comfort and correction
To the ‘youthies' he was a man with no ‘spark' in life
Most of the times alone but never lonely
Seemed to enjoy a lot the now of the hereafter
To him wisdom sparkled on his face like diamonds from the east
The dirt that covers him now must be in awe
Fruit trees of wisdom and peace must surely geminate
Surely the tomb cannot contain such and remain silent.
From the Holy Book drew he strength and comfort
From the Holy Book found he wise council
From the Holy Book comforted he them with troubled souls
He read It, he believed It and therefore taught he others also
A man dies not, for him he has transitioned
The curtain of time he waited so eagerly
We celebrate a life lived in simplicity
But whose touch remains in many hearts today.
Phillip Nine Mafunga
3 October 2019
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Write comment. Such a nice poem, Phillip. Read my poem, Love and Iust. Thanks
Thank you Jazib. I appreciate. Let me read it now