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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.

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