Grazin’ in the grass was mellow indeed when you blew into your trumpet blaring sounds of peace. What a trip! Just watchin' as the world goes past,
you used to say playing notes of jazz. Music of resistance for a tortured land imbued in the blood of its natives bashed, by the impudent high-handed little white man.
As your grandmother cared for you and miners in illegal bars, piano keys enticed dreams of hope for second class citizens silenced by oppression, while the chaplain gave you your first instrument.
Little did you know the melodies you’d pour on the rampant fires of blatant injustice. Little did you know the strength you would instil embodying possibilities, shedding light on the obscure.
Soweto blues you composed as Miriam gave her voice to screaming mothers to cry out, atrocities in town. Bring Him Back Home you sang from afar until they did, and you
returned to see the prisoner walk free, down the streets hand in hand with Winnie. Only afterwards I heard your words and will to show the people just how
wonderful and excellent they are. A message I cherish and the reason why many will remember you, your tune your smile, as he who kept the torch of freedom alive.