I met him on board the van,
Fiery and uncontrollable
against the heavily guarded windows.
He fought not with fists,
His weapons were slogans and songs
that shook the foundations
of a corrupt seat, a corrupt army.

How many times I had seen
him march the corridors,
His eyes set, his voice strong,
He was the face of freedom
and the fight for it.
To see him the same in the van,
it warmed my heart, gave me courage.

It was all over in a minute
A confusion, a push, a fall
And a flight outside the van.

They say he hit the limits
and his head exposed to all.
Some say it was a violent blow
And the "Gods" struck him down...
The rallies have broken,
People are back to cribbing
But none would walk his path
They fear, and rightly so,the aftermath.