Life on Mandela Way

So, finally perhaps,

Mandela, Mandiba, is free.

Man of perpetual dignity.

He who used love

as a political strategy.

Did not seek recrimination.

delighted in non discrimination.

A ladies man they cry,

a gleam, a twinkle, under African sky.

Fighter, boxer, lawyer.

Sometimes the state’s version of a terror,

and yet, this man left us replete, but, and I repeat,

not with horror,

for he was a healer, not a destroyer.

His photograph for years denied

to those he served, who cried

struggled, Soweto dirt dusted

still in invisible Mandela they trusted.

 

The day before this colossus departed

our political leaders here in the UK

enjoyed another Parliamentary day.

In the ‘mothership of democracy’

the bear pit beckoned;

and debate was the language of shouts and jeers,

and also, some might say, an urn of crocodile tears,

a style that leaves the voters cold,

disillusioned, depressed, down hearted.

 

So much said, yet not enough to say.

Perhaps it’s time, and more, to walk and talk,

practice, preach and ourselves outreach

in living life, the Mandela Way.

 

HAMBA KAHLE WETU (Go Well, friend)

No more troubles,

and for your vision,

please, not the end.  

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