The Divide And Rule Conspiracy

It's not about Kikuyu, Kalenjin
It's neither Pokot nor Swahili
It never has been
Open your eyes brother
Can't you see it?
It's there for all to see
It never has been!
Tribalism is used to stupefy us
To close our eyes
It's used when truth is thrown out the window
When justice will not be served
Tribalism is a divide and rule conspiracy
Can't you see?

The rich will marry the rich
Tribe’s never been a barrier
They do business together
They go to the same golf clubs
Expensive schools
Universities abroad
The politician's words are not meant to divide
them;
they're meant for you
and you,
and you!
They will never let their children marry the likes of you
Or cohort with the likes of you
They speak to you in a different tone,
They speak in a different voice
They say things that you swallow in your desperation
Things that your poverty swallows whole
For wealth has to remain within wealthy circles
Power has to stay in power FULL circles
Those circles where their kind of justice does
not have anything to do with the legal systems
They have to keep power, justice, and wealth in their hands!
It's not a matter of tribe, my friend
It never has been
It's a matter of CLASS!

PoP © 19 March 07

Inspired by a post on Symo's Shrine entitled "The Real Depths of Treason".

Though I Walk...

Five years gone and I still see myself
Running down those streets
Of our middle class estate
One bare breast
Hanging out of my torn blouse

I feel the pain of every step
Beat like a bongo drum
As blood jets out of a nostril
And trickles down my torn lip
Teeth marks sting my punctured cheek

I hear the shrill cry of our
two-year old daughter
As you fling her
Against the wall in your anger
And the eerie stillness thereafter

Then once again your tears
Begin to fall as you whisper
‘I’m sorry’
‘I’m sorry’
‘Please forgive me’
Your chest heaves
And the tears continue to fall
Until the next time your anger
rages


PoP © 18 Mar 07

What to Do Then....Legends In The Wind

And to us who The One above gives
strength and foresight,
Let us not be complacent,
Let us fight
Leave our comfort zones
our warm beds, our soft cushions
Let us get off our butts
If not for us, then for the weak ones
For they are us
Whose luck turned
They're hard workers who didn't get an education
They are the ones who carry our share of poverty

For how shall we sleep as their cries of anguish rent the air
How shall we laugh and ji-enjoy when they beg at our feet
Shall we stand proud while they remain on their knees?

Did He,
The Protector,
The One who loves all,
really want it to be this way
That we see and do nothing
that we turn away our faces
Wrinkle our noses
Splash them with the roadside
water as we drive by
Aren't we any more our brother's keeper
Or will we just watch that man,
that woman suffer,
Their bodies wasting away
The laughter frozen on their lips
Their children dying of disease
Tell me, my brother
How can we live with ourselves
how do we even sleep at night,
turn back to our warm beds, hold close our cushions with a sigh and go back to sleep?

PoP (c) Mar 07

This is a response to Legends In The Wind - you can find it in Symo's Shrine under poetry. Please use the link on this page under My Favourite Blogs to get to Symo's Shrine.

My Thatched Hut

I realized today
That there’s
Luxury in the innocence of
Not knowing, or knowing
And being able to turn away

Like a virgin deflowered
I no longer have that innocence
For I have seen up close how
Hunger snatches words from your lips
Renders you completely dumb
Relief is in the grip of sleep

Though I sometimes try to take back my innocence
I’ll never forget the poverty
That rips the clothes off your back
Poverty, this ugly disease
That says if your neighbour lacks
You’re twice worse off

I can never forget how poverty
Makes you lose your dignity
Lays you bare
Until an offer to sell your soul
For a chance to cover your nakedness
Is almost more than you can bear

That’s why I say
There’s luxury in the innocence
Of not knowing
For once I knew
I could never again turn away

PoP © 15 Mar 07

Disintegration

Tables turned in quick succession
Crashing weight upon glass floors
Splintering everything in their way

The heavens opened gates of anger
Pointing fingers with a fiery strike
Casting all illusion from dust back to dust

Clinking glass on stone, devil’s music
Neither love nor hate could quench heaven’s ire
For as the Masters said it was too late
And we watch agape

PoP © 14 March 07

Circles In The Air

I walked into Amba’s house today
armed with a book for motivation,
a prayer for inspiration,
and a hug for a friend in need.

Our conversation prior to my hurried visit
had gone like this.
‘Be strong’
‘I can’t take it any more,’ she said.
‘Hold on, don’t cry’
‘Why should I hold on, why?
‘For the children, for yourself’, I said
‘Nothing more to hold on for’.
‘How come?’ I stupidly asked.
‘I’ve been silent too long’, she said.
‘I’ve watched things go from bad to worse,
Sidelined for promotions at work
because I was pregnant with my last born.
Beaten by my husband, by culture, by tradition,
even religion, for no reason at all’.
‘I’ve suffered ever since I was born,
I’ve struggled just to get on.
My whole life has been an unwilling sacrifice.
I’ve lived by life’s expectation,
Now, I’m tired.
Say what you will,
I’m taking the coward’s way out.
It’s time to let go’, she said.

Words of wisdom froze on my lips.
Blood in my veins turned icy cold.
All I could say is,
‘I’m coming over, my friend’.
I held on tight to my shawl
as my heart cried out.

So there I was
standing at the one-roomed house door
watching her dangling feet
make circles in the heavy air.

POp © 13 Mar 07

Crimson Rose

we hide in the backyard of our minds
this garden left untended
for though we have regrets
we really never meant for it to die
when the flower heads began to sag, then ultimately drooped
the worms thirsted, curled up and died
the leaves withered and eventually browned
unwelcome weeds sprouted
when the birds finally stopped singing
and the sole remaining crimson rose
gave up her proud pose
this garden lost within the weeds
paid no heed to half-hearted attempts
at bringing her beauty back to life


PoP 13 March 07

A Moment To Live

Do you hear life’s music playing in your ear
Can you smell her sweet perfume
Can you discern the scent of her
Feel her on your face
Like a cool wind on a sunny day
Close your eyes,
Run your fingers over her silken skin
Enjoy the sweet taste of her on your tongue
Breathe her deep into your lungs

For she speaks
In the song of the birds
In the wind in the trees
In the majesty of the mountains
In the changing colours of the plains
In the eyes of a love one
She speaks
In the waves of the ocean, the smell of the sea
In the beauty of a baby’s toothless laugh
In a diamond’s imperfection
In the rising sun
She speaks…

Take a moment to hear her voice
To breath
and embrace her
Above all the noise
Take a moment to love
A moment to live


PoP© 9 March 07

Metamorphosis

anger
lay her head
in my lap
she burnt a hole
in my heart
and left me
gasping
hurting
like a fish
out of water
smarting
like a fist
in a wall
she’s now gone
and all I feel
is deadly cold

PoP © 7 March 07

The Sun Will Still Shine

Bent, she sits
At the shores of the lake
The wind in her hands
And darkness in her eyes
In her lowest moments
When her world is grey
And inside she is dead
The sun still shines
Bright and yellow
The sky is still blue
And another is born

PoP © 6 March 07

Silhouette

I see your shadow
slowly disappear
carrying in your arms
a part of me
my heart
calls out in fear
as I hear
your footsteps
disappear
and there’s
nothing left to say

PoP © 6 March 07

Drops of Life

Warm
dark secure
sacred womb
Knitting needle
Deep
Tip touching
Desecrating
this tomb
Painfully piercing
Screaming flesh
Help!
Heeeelllppp!!
Breaking me
Into a million pieces
Of blobs
And drops of life

PoP © 6 March 07

When I Find You

Help me
in my search for you
Though I look in
all the wrong places
Help me find you
Though I don’t know
what to say when I do.

PoP © 6 March 07

I Am Woman

I stand free
Proud and tall
Don’t try to stop me
My name is
woman

I speak my mind
I speak justice
And peace
I am entrusted with life
I am woman

My voice is heard
Ringing clear
Without a fear
As I take a stand
I am protector
I am woman

Let this bosom
Of the devastated earth
Lay her claim upon the masses
As she shouts
Freedom! Freedom!
Therein I am
My voice, strong and firm

I teach
Equality and peace
I teach
Humility and grace
I teach gentleness
For man’s soul
For I am she
Who stands firm against all odds
I am woman


PoP © Rewritten 8 March 07

Mekatilili!

She stood where others didn’t dare
Hoisted upon a three-legged stool
Head above the crowd, speaking
To women and men,
Speaking about taking back their land
Protecting their kaya*
Speaking about a revolution

Agitating for truth,
For ownership and justice, for freedom
She spoke, reminding them
Of their rights
Telling them to fight
To hold on, to what was theirs

She walked through fire
Cast aside the cloak of fear
She broke the chains of slavery
And stood resolute
Even when they arrested her

I see her braving the elements
Walking in dangerous territory
Breaking the bars of prison
To bring her people to freedom
I see her in every women
Who embraces the revolution

*Kaya are sacred forest shrines and traditional places of worship

PoP (c)6 March 07

The Girl

She stood
by the side of the road.
About six,
though her face was old.
Her tattered blue dress billowed
in the early morning chill.
Time stopped
as our eyes met;
her stare unblinking
seemingly in a daze.
As I drove on
I thought of the streaks
of dry tears on her cheeks,
the deep cracks on her little lips,
yellowing hair on her head
unkempt,
and her thin arms
barely encircling
the baby tied precariously
to her tiny back.

PoP (c) 20 Sep 06

Let's Take Back Our Nights!

Wake up, People!
Let us reclaim our nights,
and repossess our freedom.
Let us take back our God-given right.
Let us recover our town,
and regain our lives.

In our houses barricaded,
Behind deadbolts, keys, a siren, an alarm, thick metal bars
and a wildly beating heart, ‘burglar-proofed’.
While the murderers and thieves cavort freely in the night
we’re locked up in self-made jails!

Our fear holds the gun
our hesitation pulls the trigger
and releases the bullet that maims or kills
our brother or sister.
Let us stop the fear!
Let us take a stand,
and fight to reclaim our land!

PoP (c)12 Dec 05

War Never Ends

Though the guns and bombs
have stopped,
War is in
the smoke that billows
over the countryside.
It lives in the scorched air
of the mountains
where we once played hide
and seek.
It resides
in the rubble in which we find
our loved ones still;
in the glassy eyes
of children
who won’t speak
or close their eyes in sleep.

War lives
in those whose spirits
went with loved ones lost,
whose lives will never again
be the same.
In those who now crawl
where they once walked
and those whose
sight is in the cane
they tightly grip

War continues
for those who cried
so many tears
and died
many deaths.
Those who ask how
to pick up the pieces;
whether it was worth the misses,
where to bury their pain
and if the anger will ever cease.

PoP (c)30 Aug 06

The Crocodile Tear

You sit there, wiping your crocodile tear
from an oily face stuffed with the worker’s sweat
that you snatch year after year.
Greasy fists clutch a big white monogrammed handkerchief
bought specially for such occasions,
meant to attract maximum attention.
I watch and wonder how you stand yourself,
I wonder if you sleep at night, or if you lost the fight a long time ago
to demons that bought and paid for you,
and made you power hungry.

You stand to address the mourning crowd,
and struggle to squeeze another weak tear out.
Pretence of sympathy while shouting aloud,
as you look around the horde;
guilty, but mostly afraid they will lash out.
The masses know you were there, you see,
when your thugs shot that innocent child.
You didn’t stop the shooting, you lout.
Tucked behind beefy bodyguards the workers’ money provides.
You watched the child die like a dog with nowhere to hide.

And now the child you come to put in the ground,
Another innocent life lost to feed your greed,
He bled to death from things he knew nothing about,
Escaping helmeted goons you set loose
Like rabid dogs that kill without thought or mind.

Here you stand, you hooligan.
With a lying heart you pretend to mourn,
while in the same beat you campaign.
And let the people dig their own graves,
Through lying lips your own way you pave,
And tell the seven year old’s parents to be brave.
For when you look around all that you see,
is yet another foolish crowd to deceive.

PoP (c)Nov 8 05

Pray For Us...

As my heart stills
and words run dry
upon my lips.

I ask you to put your hands together
in supplication
let us stand up for each other

Pray for us all
for most watch in silence as our world crumbles
and the bombs continue to rumble.

Pray for the children
whose minds and lives are broken
by war, these cannot be mended.

Pray for the men and women
whose spirits fight for our lives each day
the Karimis, Mekatililis, the Che's.

Those out on the front line
who are not afraid to speak,
who give their time and lives fighting for our freedom.

Pray for the homeless
for luxury is the least of their worry
they have no place to raise their children, or rest their tired bodies.

Pray for those abused,
those ostracised, and stigmatized
whose lives have been used and trashed.

Pray for the underpaid
whose efforts, each day to make ends meet
are efforts dead

And the poor and sick
whose choices are nil,
if they seek treatment, they can’t afford a meal.

Please pray for us,
for courage and strength.
Pray that we may rise
in solidarity to seek
oppression’s sweet demise.

PoP (c) 1 March 07

Where Do I Find Love?

Love can only love.
She will not hold onto
or cling on
when love’s not reciprocal.

She will glide off
places that are not
her like.
She will attract
her kind,
and reduce her glow
when shunned.
Pride and anger
will be eaten up
or left alone
as they attempt
to outshine her.

She waits
patiently
until she’s stoked
and gently kindled
in your soul.
Then she comes out
in graceful beauty;
her full glory
shining upon your spirit,
gentle upon your heart.

Only then will you
find her,
in her purest form;
first in yourself
then in another.
Love does not
take any other form.
Love can only be love.

PoP (c)1 Mar 07