Muhammad Ali : In his last round

That poor American genuis Negro
When he was a king,
(Not only in hometown Louisville
But from Vancouver to Brazzaville
And beyond the boxing ring)
He proved to us a hero.

Was ever a king’s foremost decree
So robust as Cacius Clay’s
Renunciation of his debut name,
In the cast of hate, averse to fame?
Oh, gone are the Venus days

When the beautiful Ali
Of the Nation of Islam
Became the world’s greatest
The fiercest of them all
Commanding wit to enthral
Through the intriguing contests
Fought everywhere except Vietnam.

Vested not in gold nor silver
Gotten at Olympics’ Mexico City
Rather he put value on love;
For his people who swam-strove
In the sinking vessel of justice, pity.
We can’t resent the spite in Ohio River

Than to adore his catholic bravado
Oriented by vigour, venom, style
And con spirito of a sportsman
Whose fellows fail to amass such a clan:
The widest constituency – backing
To defeat Parkinson in this finale.

From Nkrabea by Darko Antwi           Other  poem by the author      Biography     Pictures of Muhammad Ali