CLARION CALL-Unabridged.

When the rubber meets the road,
And the sling does its swing,
Something is bound to happen
'Cause one must give way to the other,
Or else, both live in harmony .
And because we can't hold back anymore
We gonna say it the way it is,
Call it by its name and its synonym .
They institutionalized the curfew,
and the model of the  African business.
They call us backward,
Just because they stole so much from us!
What's a marathon for,
If there is an early and a late start?
I know this mayn't be popular!
But yes, it made our start poor;
A false start designed as so.
They have denied us the opportunity as it arises!
For not knowing our ways,
They may be forgiven
But to push the divide further,
with a sneer for the race can't be tolerated!
We don't get the tenders now
'cause we ain't have security!
And so our brothers nearer home,
Have borrowed a leaf,
From those invaders of longtime
Ain't sure whether the passion of the patriot still hold
Because to me the centre doesn't hold.
But Someday things will change!
They will change in Kampala,
They will change in Nairobi
I am saying they will change in Washington DC
They will change in the inner sanctrums,
They will change inside the hamlets we live in.
Our sons lifes will no longer be a sacrifice to their gods,
The blood thirsty gods of unbelief.
And our daughters -
Oooh they've been a cheap exchange for the longest time!
Until it wears our hearts NOW.
The clarion call is to Africa.
And its real sons and daughters
From cape to Tunis,
From Nairobi to Marrakkesh
When  will we stop our business!
If only for a day,
And think about the United States Of Africa,
About our  common problems.
About our hopes,
And the derail in between.
About the violations of human rights.
And about the best effort we can put,
And the quintessence we can amplify.

On Revolutions And The Plotters

Just the other day,and late in the night,
A news reporter said we're on the verge.
Heavy with sleep,i didn't get the succeeding word.
The only other word i heard was-'revolution'
It was an alien word to me.
It was fearful too,and i only thought of guns,
And a forceful eviction of an elected government.
Nevertheless,I went to sleep.
In my naive curiosity,I checked the local daily at dawn,
Eager to read about the revolution.
And true to my eyes it had the story.
The facts were there too.
Kenya was on the verge of a revolution!
And there would be no guns involved,
Not even spare blood to be spilled-
Our blood banks don't have enough supplies anyway!

The story went like this-
The president has identified a common enemy!
An enemy we could all hate and loathe.
An enemy that deprives us the passion to work,
What will all the Johnie come lately eating the whole pie!
Becoming overnight millionaires!
And so the pronouncement had import,
In that it restored our hopes once dried.
The fluid in our joints flowed again,
With the faith and hope that our taxes,
Which  used to feed and fatten the butcher's cats,
Would ultimately find a better use.
And there was the revolution!

Our healthcare system would once again bloom.
Our maternal mortality rate would go down .
And our children would count their birthdays again,
In this God given land that is Kenya.
Talk of revolution!
Revolutions don't need an army.
It may start with a whisper to another,
That things are not just right,
And we can't stay that way!
It doesn't  need a Che Guevara or a Castro,
Though some policies may be just what we need.
It only needs a conscious Kenyan ,
To take the button to another,
About the common enemy that is CORRUPTION,
And the other,not given to keeping things for himself to tell another.
And there we are!
Reclaiming our country from the dogs!

These revolutions revolve around conversations,
About why we should not engage in the vice.
This vice that eats us alive!
It gains momentum in busparks-as you wait for the estate bus,
And in marketplaces where the anti vice slogan spreads,
Then to white collar offices where the sharks lurk.
And before you know,the fat cat is rounded,
His effect-deadened by the chorus against.
That is when the  revolution happen,
With no plotter in sight but goodies to see,
Then hope,our elusive hope springs forth.

GIVE US A SIGNAL,MAMA.

Mama,they are here,
Crying louder than us who cared for you!
Show us a signal,
On how we are supposed to treat them!
Where were they in Kenya,
When Matiba was denied his rights,
And denied treatment even though weak and sick
Where were they,
When his flagship businesses were suffocated
And his loans' interest tripled,
Just so that he may be silenced.
Where were they,
When the leeches sucked his vigour and vitality?
Killing him slowly over such a long time,
We ask for a signal on how to deal with them,
Now that they cry the loudest!

Where were they when Sankara was silenced
Or they didn't like the jabs he gave to Burkina babes
More so, where were they,
When Patrice Lumumba was eliminated?
These so called defenders of freedoms
And caretakers of rights.
Where were they when Njoya was clubbed in Nairobi
And left for dead.
Give us a signal Mama Africa
On how we are supposed to treat them,
Now that they are the first to preach peace while they mean war!

Where were they when Gama pinto was shot on the driveway?
Maybe they didn't like that he was a Goan,
Or they thought he was not entitled as much.
Tell us mama Africa on how we are supposed to live with these facts!
They didn't even speak when J.M was killed and dumped.
Some thought he was growing too popular,
Because he saw the stark truth-
Of 10 millionaires and 10 million beggars!
And so they called it an untruth,
And, burying their heads in the sand,
Couldn't live with him amidst.
Maybe they thought his giving was too much,
That it had to be stopped.

Where were they when Koigi was persecuted?
Or when he was called a terrorist
Just because he couldn't see the fruits of '63 freedom.
Or when Wanyiri Kihoro and Co.were held in the dark cells of Nyayo house,
Just so that their resolve could be tested
Mama give us a signal,
On how we are to see one thing now
And see it differently later,
And yet not lose the trust.
Where were they when Wangari Maathai was branded 'a woman"
As though she wasn't one before,
Just when she stood guard at Uhuru park.
Where were they when the Mothers of political Detainees stripped
Yet none tossed a leso to cover their anatomy!

Tell me where they were,
When a close range bullet finished Tom Mboya
The best president that Kenya never had.
Where were they when their allies killed Gaddaffi?
And despite his social welfare programmes,
branded him a terrorist in his most weak state,
Just so that a united Africa would remain a pipe dream!
And so like Malema i'll ask-
Give us a signal Mama Africa,
On how we are supposed to handle them,
Those who were part of this dark history,
Yet they now cry the loudest
When the fabric tears!

Love.....ooooh Love

What is to love if not to be loved?
what is love if not laced by sacrifice?
what is love if not colored by grace?
what is love if there are no gaps to fill,
And misunderstandings to mend
what is love if there are no agonies to endure
And memories to remember,
For the sake of love.
What is love if its dull and dim,
If there are no bright sparkling moments,
And no staring at the moon,
And no watching the sun go down. 


They say its holding hands in the street,
And sipping coffee at the Hilton terrace,
Or even going on holiday to Mada,
Or seeing the Eifel tower.
So whats this love that cures and heals?
My hunch tells me tis' the simple moments
Of deep reflection.
Of seeing the twinkle little star in the eye of another,
That lights the fire of a lifetime,
And does away with finite time,
Into the abode of carefree abandon,
And into the safety of another for the other.

If seeing places,
And watching the california moonlight does it,
If it lights a selfless effort in the soul,
And gives another the freedom  to be themselves,
Then its love.
If the labours are for show and not meant,
The two then are chained.
Both then are like caged birds that sing,
Singing not songs of love but of bondage
Until they know what love means,
And they then sing for love
Because they know what it means to them.
And the colour of it only they can tell.

HOW LUSA THE GREATEST LOST TO KITA-Stories Of Our Times.

There among the people of kusu,
Lived a warrior by the name Lusa.
He never lost  a fight but once-
That cold winter morning was different
People presumed him winner,
Even before the fight started.
He had a weakling called Kita for an opponent,
And so the people thought he would pounce on him,
Mould him like clay,
Pull him by the thick beard that was his trademark,
And win the fight without breaking a sweat.
But it was never to be,
Kita,knowing his losing status,
Took the fight to Lusa.
And so Lusa fought to maintain his winning status,
While Kita fought to win.
And so as the fight progressed,the people clapped,
They also sung in praiseof  Lusa,
They were not used to someone else winning,
And so Lusa sung along as he fought,
Still,the belts were tucked on his waist
It was still his fight to lose
While for Kita,it was his fight to win
Lusa got carried away.
And so he would throw a punch,miss,and clap
He was happy because the people were happy,
And they wanted him to win.
Kita knew too well that this did not count,
The singing could be deferred to  later.
What counted were the hits
And he accumulated them untill it was too late for Lusa,
Too late to make a comeback.
And that was how Lusa,the greatest lost to Kita
People would then tell stories to their children,
Teaching them virtue and vice
And they would say
Do not lose like Lusa of Kusu who lost to Kita as he clapped.