A Threnody for Boseman

Somewhere in Africa,

 a baby announces its arrival

 into the world with a joyful cry.

In Lebanon, another baby

sings its exit cry as it flees

 an explosive world. In America,

Boseman takes a bow

after his final existential performance.

The world was at a standstill

 when he breathed his last.

 The sun lost its glory

and shone darkness on the earth.

The rains that beat us

were stones of oppression

which pursued us into the safety

of our enemies’ shelter.

The world was at a standstill

When he breathed his last.

Out of ignorance, we mocked

his bravery, while he fought an epic

battle to defend us with his last breath.

The world was laughing

when he breathed his last.

A hero has gone home,

gone home to Wakanda.

Even death could not stop him,

Could not kill him.

Boseman’s life towers

in our collective memories,

filling empty spaces once occupied

by doubts, teaching lessons

on the self-confidence of a race

and the glory of black pride;

Floyding our despairing cries with distant hopes,

about a time when the past will be at peace with the present.

Son of Wakanda, when you

cross the point of the cross,

greet the ancestors and ask them to remember us

here in a dialectical word. And do not fail to send

your spirit to inspire us on .

Hero of Wakanda,

when the drums of welcome

begin to beat in Wakanda,

dance like a star, for you earned that

name when you once walked this sphere.

Like a star, you will shine long after the world has gone dark.

Rest on, Chadwick Boseman.

We love you now and always.

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