Skip to main content

War In Kenya


There is a war in Kenya,
They call it a Civil War.

The infernos of Hell came to church
And people gnashed their teeth and burned,
Ex-neighbours watch them burn with smiles,
Excited by the wail of dying children.

How fast darkness creeps into the heart of men
When the manacles of greed grip their hearts
And power drunk leaders seek to reign eternal.
What will then become of us?

The war in Kenya is no news,
The conflict in Somalia had no use,
The people in Darfur suffered too,
Please tell me, would you,
Where is the ambience of love we once knew?

Where do these wasted roads lead?
Roads littered with charred bodies,
Roads where scrawny hands pray unendingly
Roads wet from the incessant rush of tears.

There is a war in Kenya,
The cowards who declared it,
They are hidden in stone castles
Shouting senseless orders over large meals
To sycophants and bootlickers on killing sprees.

There is a war in Kenya,
They call it a Civil War.

People are killing people in Kenya
They say it is civilized; it is called a civil war.

*****18th January 2008*****

(I wrote this poem during the Kenya election violence in 2008)

Popular posts from this blog

Executioner's Business

I have not come here
To put back together
The Guinea fowl egg
That was broken on Her Majesty's sandals.

I am an Executioner.
The why and the how matters not,
It's the Who.

Those who in malice
Destroy good food in fits of pettiness
Then turn to mock the distended bellies
Of hungry children
Shall know no peace.

But today,
It is not scoffing egg breakers that vex me.

It is,
Those who in silence watched
While the dirty deed was done,
Unconcerned about hungry mouths,
Then proceeded to,
on the miscreants
behalf, plead for mercy,
It is they who stir my bile.

So may I not be blamed
When in swinging my blade
I, accidentally, chop off the heads
Of wailers who stand too close to the guilty.

The Executioner's job is urgent business
I have no time for the niceties
Of giving, those who loiter, final warnings.

***** August 3, 2016*****


Bedtime Epiphany of a Pining Heart

Tonight,
I contemplated
On things that were and were not,
On why
Light retracts different, in your eyes,
Like rainbows randomly ricocheting
Off my intangible thoughts,
Spellbinding...

On why,
Words sound different, on your lips,
How you laugh,
How the sounds take a path,
Across infinite dreams,
Into all my incarnations,
Into all my iterations,
Into all...

Tonight,
I concluded
You are a figment
of my imagination,
You must be...

For
God is not so cruel
That he made a Heaven like you
Then condemned me
To the Hell of perpetual longing
Wanting, and never belonging...

*****September 14, 2016*****


God is My Barber

The sickness that made the Vulture bald
would have killed the Crow.

It is because
the gods are petty
and would not be questioned
about who they show favor to,
That Crows live to,
Squawk hysterically
At Vultures' misfortune.

We have come to understand, that,
when a petty god is your barber,
Crows, who can't afford a razor,
with their benevolent destinies,
will punctuate our precious peace
with their shameless snickering.

but
the Vulture
neither
pays any mind
nor
wages a war of words
with mockers and scoffers;
for the cure for baldness
is not found in the laughter of Crows...

*****April 4, 2017*****

http://morganes-photographe.deviantart.com/
My Second poem about Vultures. I really need to stop this...😂😂😂