Gangling. Quite debonair not because we share close to same skin color, remember we share same strain of humanity, just as the rest of the world too. Some felt like they owned him. Some felt neglected by him. Seems we all can’t have him. Not at the same time. At least not anymore! And most of all, he’s no more everybody’s whipping post!
A gentleman. Cool, calm and collected. Thoroughly refined as far as the eyes can see.
Confident. I always, somehow see flimsy shades of Mandela in him. Especially when he flashes that heart-warming, toothy smile of his. But I think he looks more like his own father when he’s deep in thought; in his pensive moment, when he’s entirely lost in the burgeoning maze of his audacious mind. Mandela’s image dubbed on him a hazy, yet visible halo. A saintly halo nevertheless. His father’s image endowed him with a weaponized body armor. A fainting Saint on one hand and a dogged fighter on another!
Graceful. He moves, he glides, as if he’s levitating on nothing but exceptional grace. An attribute men rarely bequeath. Not because they lack it but because muscles and grace oftentimes: are a odd couple. Easy to figure how that could have been an eternal gift from his mom.
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Articulate. That assuring body language, the gentle finger stabbings of the open air, the invinsible ‘pull-rope’ hand gestures as if to pull his audience so close, selfishly close to his own private space. An argument too mundane or critical; never too hard for him to push, sell and through it, make a convincing killing. A compelling speaker. Owner of the tone, the timing and the ultimate deliverer!
Affectionate. A lover of his love and a quick connector with the kids. He knows how to make love to his wife in the open sphere, in the public space without ever leaving his seat. His hands know where and just how to touch her, I mean touch her naked, ready heart.
The Leader from the rear. He gave us that one for free! A bumbling Black Hope. I don’t blame him for that anymore. Maybe just…just maybe Hoping is no more good enough! Maybe that’s a worn strategy! Perhaps we’re still putting all the preciously delicate eggs in a frail basket!
Many things still left undone. Many things stand still skewed, but in good time we all would realise those things probably weren’t his to entirely finish off. Our proper sentiments about him shall definitely mature in due time. Those that hated him shall probably see him differently in a few- give, or take in four years. It’s easy, safe or, cool to hide behind the facade of a quiet, safe haven to wildly lob bombs of criticisms all willy-nilly! It’s different when there’s only you, the deep blue sea, a hot seat and the seat has only your name on it.
