SOME SPOKEN WORD..
THIS IS FOR BROTHERS AND SISTERS WHO KNOW WHAT IT MEANS FOR A HOUSE TO LEAK OVER YOUR BED AT 2 AM IN THE MORNING AND WHAT IT MEANS TO LACK A PROPER TOILET..
TO NAIROBI'S KIBERA,KAMPALA'S KISENYI AND DAR-ES-SALAAMS TEMEKE.
ENJOY OF YOU CAN.
HOME.
As big as a cell of a prison
but not that big without reason
we live like we did commit treason,
but its we who got robbed by that person
whose hands are coloured crimson.
He and many whose tongues are honey flavored
so that they can get highly placed hands oiled
to make their vices never get foiled.
Here in this "place of cool waters"
where they can step on our toes
and keep being our foes,
in their money chase that is now hectic
without being apologetic..
Enough about them,now about my home;
now about this place where my soul rests
where I can come and forget my sorrows.
This my place
where I find true solace,
away from the madding populace,
even though my bedsides are held up by shoe lace..
A tiny murky stream
flows as if in a dream
right outside my room,
what this stream carries might bring into your heart gloom
but for me and many more this is our doom
I have heard that it carries all the valleys filth
as it flows with easy stealth
bringing us nothing but ill health
but thats how this part of our city is.
Toilets are things we read about in papers
because they are foreign to us as baby pampers,
what we do is do the depositing in bread wrappers..
Where it ends up?ask the unfortunate paupers.
These rooms for us who are quite an fortunate
where everyday is judged by fate
and so sad is the our state
that kids watch their parents getting intimate
seeing the gasping and twitching under the sheets
that frustrates so much that they head to the streets.
These our streets where so foul is the mood
that there is little good
and brothers will do any thing for a plate of food.
Home where immorality
is the middle name of this society
where preachers screw our sistren
the weak part of their brethren
and still call on the holy trinity
to come down and save our community.
Where sisters give up whats between their thighs
without so many whys
after getting used to a lifetime of lies
to men aged enough to be called grandpa
or worse still pa.
Home where the blue shirts love to loot
where brothers plead for mercy but they still shoot
babies get trampled on by the blueshirts boot
and the little that we own is burnt to a black soot.
where grandmothers become mothers
and have to raise their grandchildren
after watching their parents die in way so pathetic
from something they call an epidemic or pandemic
but that does not really matter.
This is our home and we can trade it for none
because the essence of brotherhood here
is not alienated like there.
So until things get better
we are stuck here for better or for worse.
This is home and it shall remain so.
TO NAIROBI'S KIBERA,KAMPALA'S KISENYI AND DAR-ES-SALAAMS TEMEKE.
ENJOY OF YOU CAN.
HOME.
As big as a cell of a prison
but not that big without reason
we live like we did commit treason,
but its we who got robbed by that person
whose hands are coloured crimson.
He and many whose tongues are honey flavored
so that they can get highly placed hands oiled
to make their vices never get foiled.
Here in this "place of cool waters"
where they can step on our toes
and keep being our foes,
in their money chase that is now hectic
without being apologetic..
Enough about them,now about my home;
now about this place where my soul rests
where I can come and forget my sorrows.
This my place
where I find true solace,
away from the madding populace,
even though my bedsides are held up by shoe lace..
A tiny murky stream
flows as if in a dream
right outside my room,
what this stream carries might bring into your heart gloom
but for me and many more this is our doom
I have heard that it carries all the valleys filth
as it flows with easy stealth
bringing us nothing but ill health
but thats how this part of our city is.
Toilets are things we read about in papers
because they are foreign to us as baby pampers,
what we do is do the depositing in bread wrappers..
Where it ends up?ask the unfortunate paupers.
These rooms for us who are quite an fortunate
where everyday is judged by fate
and so sad is the our state
that kids watch their parents getting intimate
seeing the gasping and twitching under the sheets
that frustrates so much that they head to the streets.
These our streets where so foul is the mood
that there is little good
and brothers will do any thing for a plate of food.
Home where immorality
is the middle name of this society
where preachers screw our sistren
the weak part of their brethren
and still call on the holy trinity
to come down and save our community.
Where sisters give up whats between their thighs
without so many whys
after getting used to a lifetime of lies
to men aged enough to be called grandpa
or worse still pa.
Home where the blue shirts love to loot
where brothers plead for mercy but they still shoot
babies get trampled on by the blueshirts boot
and the little that we own is burnt to a black soot.
where grandmothers become mothers
and have to raise their grandchildren
after watching their parents die in way so pathetic
from something they call an epidemic or pandemic
but that does not really matter.
This is our home and we can trade it for none
because the essence of brotherhood here
is not alienated like there.
So until things get better
we are stuck here for better or for worse.
This is home and it shall remain so.
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