Mandela Madiba Nelson

Do we cry or do we smile 
Do we breathe a sigh of relief 

Or are we to be with sorrow 
For an old tree has fallen in the forest 

Do we cry with joy to celebrate his life
Or do we cry with sadness for what awaits 

The forest has been shrinking 
Lets all admit it, this old ground was once so green 

Fewer and fewer of the old trees stand 
Fewer would even claim their own roots 

Madiba was an old tree, a great one
A giant of a tree in this shrinking forest 

Unfortunately as we stand in agony it is the chainsaws 
That w'ld organize his funeral and be the chief mooners 

Shedding crocodile tears for his passing 
All in a rush to go plundering and looting  

No longer would the old mahogany tree 
Protect these seedlings so vulnerable  

The chainsaw can be heard roaring, hyenas laugh 
Ready to lay carnage on the land 

The grave robbers are no longer strangers, they are family
They have been camping for so long in wait 

But as tradition demands, last respect, last rites 
We will all close our eyes and shed tears 

I leave it to you if yours is of sadness 
Or that of joy, I leave it to you  

Madiba will have his last right 
But do not cry crocodile tears on his grave 

If all I can do is plead 
I plead with thee, do not coward his grave 

For Madiba shared 
Only but a genuine smile 

Silence Winds

Shared with: http://onesingleimpression.blogspot.com/


Today, these days, the air feels thin
A change nears, the silence is deafening
Words are not spoken, the evening seems close by


For there is no word 
That can carry such sensing 
To describe in true magnitude of what lingers


But no one says, so even in distance lands 
Where once enemies were made of one 
Old friends sits with apprehension


What are we to do, when the time comes
What are we to say, in time passing
Yet we know, we are only mortal 


And the only immortality that can be offered 
Is by name, the body is fragile, this body is weak 
But this is a giant in the forest, a silver back


So we will all notice his absence
Yet he is only mortal,
So we seat in silence, wary


For no word is strong enough 
To carry emotions felt 
To relive the soul of such burden


Of this apprehension, in sadness 
The lonely heart feels
Even before giants fall, 


Rivers of tears, that runs deep in souls
Know they will soon be called upon
To rain down, on the sight of man, in last rights

But for now we hold on
This is our fight with mortality
This is our fight to keep our grandfathers

What became of Prisoner 46664

A sting left of horror, sorrows..
On a legacy in fine form to be left behind ..
By an honored man who saw it all..
To bear witness in life's drama..

To the roller-coaster of the theater, of life's stories..
That enveloped around him, in his gifted time on earth..
Few if any, know what lies ahead..
In the caricatures of drama, that awaits us..


The soothsayer and the oracle,.. 
Along with Nostradamus..
Have been relegated, in this regard..
Even the weatherman, knows to be cautious..

With what he says to the educated majority..
And so from genesis, his story began..
Born into royal, and then insulted by virtue..
Of birthright, like a suntan, sunburn on skins..


For the left, can not inherit the throne...
Like the second son of a King..
A spare tire made surplus to requirements..
In locomotive wheels,..

That never touches the ground..
Still the gift of stride, strive, is destiny..
And destiny says to strive;..
I am an empty canvas,..

Make of me what you please..
Dreams and ambitions are one thing..
One has to, still walk the narrow lane..
To come out the other side, a Made Man...

Sitting on thrones beyond one's imagination..
Made King of all men, in kingdoms fought for..
But drama is like a cyber game..
Stages levels reached, with challenges set..


Through drama he had, three companions..
And a fourth, for a course..
For which he spent decades..
Behind closed doors..


His life, has been a legacy lived...
But, before his death, he was devoured by his own..
To have watched his name and legacy, hard earned..
Fought for, all for the wrong reasons, for gain in wealth..


Thus why the fortune teller has been..
Relegated to south of the river's bank..
And he knows not, whether to leave..
A happy man, for what castles he built..

And apartheid dragons he slayed ..
Or a sad man, to have lived to see..
The carnage, his own brought to his door step..
Fighting over corpses on burial grounds 

In unions and gatekeepers, 
Battles for middle earth ..
While the destitute; symbols of a legacy,..
Goes starved,  and unattended in the dark.. 

For material gain..