By Javas Bigambo
No pen can stretch to the sky, to pen a condolence note so memorable for the world and aliens to see. Maya Angelou requires no praise, for even by her name alone, no medal is more valuable. I have had great trouble learning of her departure many hours ago, and now the real spirit of Black American struggles require a new heir. In the pain of her mortal flight, the joy of her exceptional genius bathes us still, in the strength of her sweltering intellect. No, only the sightless think her dead. For, by the non-dimming light of her creative virtuosity, Maya Angelou, now and long here after shall dwell in our hearts and libraries, even though the old girl has stealthily crossed over through a detour, to a world so silent.