Nelson Mandela - A poem.

Across the iron bars
Outside the window
It is full of ice
Dread cold is running
To a minus degree
Celsius

Standing
Inside this Babylonian cage
Watching with a sharp
Clear vision
Is a person in color
Black
In the white sense
Of this word 

Wings flapping
Like a summer bird
Peace and cool
upon the blue sky high
With the nerves of the deepest
Ocean waves

Picking the flowers of survival
Along the way
On o­ne hand

A fertile seed
Carrying the sprouting spirits
Of African roots o­n the other

Not losing sight
On each passing night
And a fastly clearing day

Despite three
Solid decades
In a white man
Oppressor jail.
 

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