FNB Stadium, Johannesburg, on Tuesday, December 10
A tear silently crawled down my cheek
As eulogies fall and despair rise to the peak.
I see the crowd, the leaders, the well-wishers
Here they are gathered like never before-
Dark clouds have gathered in the East-
Old mounds overturn by the leash.
Dusty bones stir in their pale graves
While the bells hoarsely knell-
Told have been the tales
Gone have been the sales
of rights and freedoms
Through the fight of that man
twenty-seven lunar days
had his face been hidden pale
For the whip's caress
And the whiteman's address.
The troubles of the world
The weeps of the people-
The tears that baked their cheeks
He stood brave, conquered and freed
the newspapers, the radio:
"Hero dies aged 95, after a long illness."
the remarks of the people:
"Was he made for death? Our Mandela!"
Dark clouds gathered in the East-
Old mounds overturned by the leash.
Dusty bones stirred in their pale graves
While the bells hoarsely knelled-
He freed a humanity
He took his brother's strokes
Bled for his brother's locks
And aged in his selflessness and empathy.
Dark clouds gather in the East-
Marking that little patch of the Earth
Where has disappeared
Earth's greatest child, Mandela.