My humble tribute to the gratest man to live among us, Nelson Mandela.
Farewell my father,
Words fail me in saying goodbye, in even beginning to pay tribute to
your greatness. The responsibility of knowing you, the duty that comes
with sharing an age with you weighs heavy on my weak heart, heavier
still than is the pain of parting.
From Childhood I was inspired by you,
Motivated by you,
Swearing one day I'd try to, emulate your life's work,
Living a life of purpose and of meaning,
Always seeing, the greater lesson behind every struggle.
Yet sands of time run very fast, life and heedlessness, and the
intoxication of youth take over, so that desensitisation took me far
Years and consciousness separated us, other so-called heroes filled a
void in my soul, and you seemed far above my chosen space on the lower
News, media, in literature and times of trouble you'd come to me, but
only fleetingly, till 12 months ago.
12, the number of the masomeen was the number that brought you back to
me, and your illness, suffering that cleanses the heedless, telling me
assertively, that you were not long for this world.
I shook, not wanting to accept the reality of your mortality.
I prayed, and cried, and shook, till one day, I woke up from existing,
surviving, to find you gone.
Let the earth tremble, the skies cry and the wind blow my tears to
where you lay, far from the majliss of my soul that mourns you and my
Cymbals of freedom of justice, dignity, truth, reconciliation, and
liberation in all its forms, selfless till the end and after the end,
how can I let you go?
Now, in a space beyond my own, the Imam and the statesman share
anecdotes, hopes of a better world. He, who died on the scorching
sands of Karbala, meets the one who rests on the cool hills of Qunu.
He who wore his father's cut-off trousers in his first day barefoot in
school meets the one who sheltered under the sacred shawl of salvation
He, who lived, breathed, fought and died for justice, today shakes the
hand of the one who lived, breathed, fought and died for justice, the
heavens rejoice in accepting home one of their own, and the world
cries at a light now extinguished.
Far from Qunu I weep, sitting alone on the lofty heights of your
humility surveying far below the devastation of ever increasing and
Wishing only that my tears water the flowers of your legacy, that I
might sit upon your grave and absorb the wisdom of your earth,
That I might hold your hand and talk and share and understand and be understood.
The day lays etched in my memory as the day my soul severed.
The day Narges died I lost a sister,
The day Murtaza Lakha died I lost a teacher,
The day the man they call Dave died, I lost an enemy who tried to break me.
Today, I lose a father, Grandfather, scholar, poet, statesmen, friend,
hope, light and inspiration, the greatest sinner who kept on trying.
My world is in a void, and I know not who to turn to.
In a world full of grey secrets,
I hold out my broken heart in truth, and promise before your eternity
that I will never stop fighting,
That with you beside me, I recognise the freedom fight of my
generation, and shall carry on, though the way will be dark.
Though the world will never see your like again, it does, for fleeting
moments in time, contain miniscule sparks of your luminescence, and I
will seek them out wherever they may be, smiling in the knowledge that
they exist because you lit the candles of their direction and
I say farewell, but these are but words for a statesman who's long
walk to freedom departs its physicality,
For your love and compassion lights a new candle in the shrine of my
heart, where your cause reigns supreme, forever merging in to my own
Madeeba Madeeba My Madeeba, father of your nation, guiding light and
libertarian of the world,
The earth salutes you, the world prays for you and mourns you,
While your daughter from a distant soil, picks up your lantern of
truth, smiles through her tears, and readies herself, for her long