Rolihlahla Madiba

fists clench to either punch
or defend the curse of a fight
but you — a southern rain,
falling with hailstones for those knuckleheads.
you beat the roof of humanity
broke the troubled wind binding her,
you became home, black walls
yet white
whose mind feathered the scars
that were engraved as mettlesome.
Rolihlahla—not a mistaken peace
a fire whose ashes can wash off the sins
iterated to hang on our doorsteps.
I greet you resting in the bowels
I greet you with a sound of trouble,
your handwriting hasn’t washed off yet.

Ruddapoet