By Ridwan Bello, Kaduna, Nigeria
Dark, old, and short
So slim, lean, with thought
Of all the way fate set
Forth, with all the pain that
Gushed out, above the heat
Doom night art, on to rain
While heart drives.
Little child, he said
When heaven stood
Watching the kelp
Of that old man beat
Up on the street, where
Were you?
Tell them little child, that Mandela
Is dead.
O when those news
Men shall come to ask
You about… tell them little child
That Mandela is dead.
Was it for his colour
And his love to these
Rose, he was beating up
On London street?
Say no less little child
That Mandela is dead.
©Ridwan Bello
