(Tribute to Ben Longwe)
By Burnett Munthali
The winds whisper his name, through mountains and streams,
A warrior of justice, a man of great dreams.
Ben Longwe, the fearless, the bold and the strong,
A voice for the voiceless, silenced for too long.
He walked where others dared not tread,
He spoke when others bowed in dread.
With fire in his heart and truth on his tongue,
He stood against tyranny, steadfast and young.
Through the streets, his voice would rise,
A call for justice that reached the skies.
He bore no weapon, he wielded no sword,
But his words were sharper than any accord.
Against the storms of corruption and greed,
He planted hope like a precious seed.
He saw the struggles of the weak and the poor,
And fought to open justice’s door.
No threat could break him, no bribe could buy,
His mission was clear, his purpose was high.
For the people he suffered, for the truth he bled,
And now he rests, but his voice isn’t dead.
Even as shadows tried to consume,
His light refused to fade in the gloom.
He stood for freedom, he stood for right,
A beacon of hope in the darkest night.
Now, the drums beat low, the flags wave high,
Tears flow freely, but so does pride.
For a man like Ben, though gone from our sight,
Still marches forward in the fight for the right.
His spirit lingers in the whispering wind,
In every protest, in voices unpinned.
His name is written in history’s scroll,
A man who dared to give his whole soul.
Sleep well, great warrior, your battle is done,
Yet your legacy glows like the morning sun.
For as long as injustice and tyranny reign,
Your voice will rise again and again.
We will carry your banner, we will stand tall,
We will answer the echoes of your call.
Ben Longwe, though you have taken your rest,
Your fight lives on, in the hearts of the oppressed.
