WHICH WAY AFRICA?

The drums of Africa  are calling.
The sun tanned dreams of black people,
are crying on rooftops.
Yelling loud for whoever cares to listen.
How can a continent with so much,
have so little to show.
How can a continent with the best brains
be so poor among other nations of the world.

Am not seeking answers here!
Am just jogging your conscience,
On this state of events.
How can Congo allow its Gold to be pilfered
Why do countries with so much pile debt,
And perpetuate the depedence syndrome
Whether we look East Or West home's best.
We better till our land and eat from it.

Why do countries in Africa fight for oil,
Even before they dig the first wells.
And in Kenya,they fight for a share of the oil money,
Even before the machines roar to life.
Why does Africa behave as if its in a hurry.
To walk before it crawls.
We set policy institutions,
Even before we get our policies and priorities right.

And others in Africa sing the West's song!
That song of arrogance.
That intimidating 'Macho' bravado.
That show off about power.
That looking down on Africa that hurts!
Where does the Cocoa in their tea come from?
Is it not from ivory coast and the gold coast
And the best grade coffee?
Is it not from Africa highlands?
Africa may never be the sugar in anybody's tea.
But we are the aroma that reminds them,
About Africa.
And about being African and the difference.
And the same way too should Africa carry itself.
Which way Africa?

MAUMAU the rennaisance

MauMau is not a myth,
Neither is it a story from outer space
It is a story weaved in resilience,
A determination by man,
that north or south,
east or west,
Nobody will deny us,
The use of what is ours.
It is like the civil rights movement in the America.
It is a declaration of rights,
And an affirmation of justice,
That whoever does to man,
That which isn't deserved
doesn't deserve to be with their resources.

Maumau looketh not behind,
Because what's ahead is much important!
If they took our land,
They don't have to till it as we watch.
If they see one who is ignorant,
They don't have to profile all of us as so,
If they deal with a half baked brain,
They don't have to label us as mind challenged.
Maumau looks at capacity.
They look after their land,
And the resources they have,
Yes,Maumau looks after their capital.
If looking at these things,
Makes all  people Maumau
Then i too, am Maumau.

Maumau is transformational.
IT didn't cease with Kimathi,
Or with General Mathenge.
Maumau is just,and caring.
If we've got  one meal,we share.
Maumau is a movement.
For the emancipation of human kind.
Mau mau replicates the good that's left.
Maumau embodies Gandhi
And personifies Martin Luther King JNR.
It is selfless.
I guess Maumau is not dead.
And if it is,
I would be glad to wake it up,
And tell it,and tell them,
And tell him,and tell her,
That the work is not yet done.
Not yet.

Why are all the good people silent?

When a city is taken over,
Ravaged and flattened to the earth,
Destroyed by the enemy,
and uprooted by the roots,
In so far as it didn't stand on its own
But by the commission and omission of all
Where will the good people be?
Will they be spared by the blind knife that kills?
Will they have an ark as of noah,
To shield them from harm?
Harm that they too have helped forment
But which they'ld want to run away now

When the Israelites made their gods,
They who made them knew of the danger ahead.
By compromise,those who never made them,
but made it not their business to speak against it,
Too were destroyed
And so the world is better not with thee,
Thee who keep quiet when idols are worshiped!
Thee who stand guard ,
At the offices of the corrupt.
Ye bystanders who know the wrong,
But find peace eating with the wrong doers,
Sharing their loot and keepin quiet.

The world is not destroyed by the wrong doers.
But by the good people who knowing of it  keep quiet.
If Martin Luther kept quiet,
A hundred years may have passed,
With the same isolation and racism pervading,
till one of his ilk, lacking peace in silence,
Talked anti and against the vice.
If Mandela kept quiet,apartheid would still be.
Millions and millions of God's people treated as second class
Denied jobs,healthcare and conscious chained.
The oppressors were not bad ,
They have always not been bad people.
Anyone can be bad in the eyes of another!
Silence by the oppressed is the bad thing
And so i ask-
Why are all the good people silent?
When all this vice is happening in our world.
Why are all the good people silent?
When this is happening right next to our hamlets,
And right next to our perimeter fenced mansions.
Why are all the good people silent?

LOVE BROOK

This ain't a law
It is a wonder that curves
Taking as it receives
In class it isn't taught
And so no genius of it exists,
Though in varying degrees,
this magic is espoused.

It doesn't get extinguished,
It dies slowly-nay it wanes,
When left unattended.
But like a snowy brook,
from a mountain recess ,
't can sprout again,
to spread its wings,
and cover wrongs past
with its lovely splendor.

To love and be loved
isn't a liability to either
its a responsibility,
borne of passion,
its a lasting reservoir,
that quench  a thirsty soul,
feeds a hungry crave,
and calms a restless heart.
From me to you-
I love you...will always do.

OUR DIRE NEED AS KENYANS

Her skin sags from her cheek
And so that it doesnt bother her more
she ties it close to the cheek bone
That is the picture of Kenya at hunger
Its a dire situation
The children no longer go to school
Not that they dont like it anymore
What with the newly introduced laptop!
But they've to fetch water
At the village well
The only one that has not dried up
And so the queue forms
Minutes tick away into hours
Oblivious of the missed lessons
When the children are back home,
Its already two in the afternoon
Their empty stomachs-
These which have not had a meal for days give up
And there is no logic to go to school
Only to learn for 30 minutes
But how are they supposed to learn as they yawn?
The old lady is only their grandmother,
Their mother has not been back for days
As she seeks relief food
And on the last day ,
A merchant of death brokers theirs portion for sale.
So she wonders-
Whats the use of going back home?
Where the hungry stares of children saps my last energy
And the dying face of old mama tears all hope of life!
That is our dire need-As kenyans.

CONVERSATIONS

Hummed in low tones yet never dying down
Done in secluded places as in open paths
From rooftops in moonlit country,
As in dark poorly lit hamlets,
Addressed to kings and queens
Through emissaries and missives,
Sounding like the noise in a congregation,
That never dies down.
Throughout the night word goes round,
With women shielding their echos,
So word doesn't land on just anyone
But reaches the intentioned.
These are the conversations about ourselves,
And the things we crave for,
Its talks about our culture,
And about our government.
It is this pregnant moment,
That fills our thoughts
And saturates our dreams.
If walls have ears,
And the still quiet moment that listens gives way,
They would say what we're engaged in .
They would say this is the conversations,
That broke away from the past,
And charted a future for us,
And for our children.

TATTER OF THE TIMES

A cloth is no longer one
If its shredded into pieces,
Because the fragments don't hold
As to make a garment.
That's what happens,
When time is mutilated,
And life's fabric tears,
As the impact is ignored.
When the cry of the next person,
Is greeted by the groan and sigh of a war child,
When bombs rain on men,
And teargas smoke poison their lungs,
With no fresh air to breathe,
As all the trees were cut long ago,
And what is left is a scorching sun,
That brazenly burns with venom.
Its rays becoming hotter ,
As ozone layer suffered the same fate.
And so we bake as in an oven,
Crying of our circumstance which won't go.
 Mitigating the effects by holding conferences!
And nothing good coming out of it.