Mandela (Madiba)

Standing tall, before the Robben Island lords

Climbing the hills of sorrow, his country bid him go

The brave Madiba, sailing over the tides

With tempestuous hot headed, subversive sweetness

Converting nightmares into a dream, he did.

Did he labor in vain for the dream of freedom?

A thousand movements scare, one purpose gain

A man whose pen was a gun

And his word a bomb

Laying with David’s sling in Robben Island  

With Solomon’s banner, he returned.

The pearl of Africa, the heart of an Angel

Who sought virtue and glory in the lucifer’s of his time.

The mind, the memory no one could imprison

Emblems of deeds done in their clime

So unarmed but he won

Subduing all the devil’s advocates.

Not one battle made him a champion

The battle of sorrow, he won

The battle for unity, he won

The battle of blacks, he won

The battle of whites, he won

The battle for all, he won

Standing before the precipice of love.

Oh, sweet victory!

 Refusing to be chain by history,

Alternatively, keep a dynasty and cult of personality

But bridging the wounds of apartheid with dignity.