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.
