Diago

For Diago 17 years old I didn’t share a class with Diago, But I knew him in the way schools do: Tall, dark, and quiet respect in his walk, A presence you felt passing through. They say he skipped class now and then — We all find our own way to cope. But ask around and the stories change: “He was solid.” “Good people.” “Hope.” To some, a brother from another mother, To others, the partner you could trust. To most of us, just Diago — A classmate, gone too fast for us. Seventeen isn’t enough time For all the things a life should hold. Yet in that time he left his mark: Not perfect, but real, and bold. So we’ll remember the boy who stood tall, Who gave respect and earned it back. The empty space in the hallway Says more than we ever could, in fact. Rest easy, Diago. Your name still echoes where you stood. And for the friends who called you brother — We’ll watch out for them, like you would. **Tot volgende keer, boet. Ons sal jou nie vergeet nie.**