December Five

Conscience of a nation to his children

olive tones and texture in his sallow skin

went to the God of all colours in winter

when the world is outside white.

And white hearts are black

living in skin stretched and mottled

by the sun of African skies

where his spirit flies.

Like Gandhi, a lawyer condemned

by the laws of his peer

he knew no fear of the dark

which was his manger

his refuge in danger.

They slapped the other cheek

and still he smiled

he knew they could not hurt him

with their wild accusation

they could not stop the rebirth of his nation.

Christened by his teacher on his first day at school

he had no paper or stool, no stub pen,

he could ask only why and when.

Accused of high treason; no reason,

Patience patented was his sword and shield

honed and polished on the penance field

of Robben Island's lime pits of the free

and Thatcher and Reagan held the key.

South Africa belongs to all who live in it,

black and white, genius and half wit.

“authority is based on the will of the people”,he said,

“this land is owned by the living and dead."

We have been brutalised by an invading nation

They dont know truth, or reconciliation.

He went gladly to his maker on December five

One of the chosen few; dead but still alive.

(in memory of Nelson Mandela, named after a pirate)