Rolihlahla, a poem by Rethabile Masilo

When his voice spoke out we knew it
and shared it quietly in our homes,
it sent birds off into a liberty
we'd sought, shook us and made
more sense than any bullet could.

A shipment of Negroes
left the shore into the world,
its face the Sirige masks
of far cotton fields.

From floor to roof
his tap root fills my room.
Bush lines crease its face,
Xhosa hair dots its head.

The first time I thought it was a mistake�
this ideal he was prepared to die for,
but it was there in his voice,
joined by others on the island
a stone's throw from The Cape
of Good Hope.

At night when the wind is still
you can still hear the island whisper
in nomine Patris et Fillii et Spiritus Sancti.
Until it quiets down and we go back
to work in the morning
and return to our shacks in the evening.

---

Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela