The story of my people,

A narrative of struggle,

To be free,

Speak, write, pray,

To love,

Freedom in their own land,

Written in blood


Fight for good governance,


For democracy,

Struggle to demolish dictators

Written in flowing blood,

Of those who refuse compromised,

The brave,

Who filled the jails,

Tortured and killed by the State,


Written in blood,

Blood of babies and,

By standers,

Blood of innocence,

In the name of police brutality,

Killing its people in the name of State,

Written in flowing blood,

Of people who are out to say no,

To electoral fraud,


Written in blood,

Is the pain of poverty,

Of those who take one meal a day,

Those who can’t feed their children,

Can’t clothe them,

Those who work for less,

As the politician get rich,

Grab as they steal and kill


Written in blood,

Is the fight for equity,


A better society,

Moral fabric

Written in blood,

Is the story of their politics,

Political assassination,

un explained deaths

Written in blood,

That soils our land,

Historical injustices,

Land issues,

All written in blood




Sometimes many times,

I look to the blue sky,

And the white clouds,

And can’t help marvel,

At how good I have it,

A life with gold coins,

Wealth and lands

Car and brands

But would you love me anyway,

If I were a pauper on the street,

With nothing, not even my pride,



I look to your beautiful eyes,

Full of love,

Of joy and protection,

And I nod that I can give you the world,

But would you love me anyway?

If I couldn’t give you anything,

The rides and dinners,

And the class,

Sometimes and many times I ask,

Would you still read my poems with admiration?

Listen to me with conviction,

If not for my education,

And privilege in life,

Sometimes I wonder,

What If I were a cripple down the street,

Would you stop to look at me?

Would you still care of my feels?

Would you smile at me?


Sometimes I see how happy it makes you,

The chocolates on Monday,

And flowers on Wednesday,

Night-outs on Friday,

But what if I lived in the village,

With the sky my blanket,

And the lake my swimming pool,

Where my toys are made of mud,

Would you still love me?

Want to start a family with me?

Would you be proud to call me husband?

Sometimes I wonder



He comes out laughing.

Very playful,

Always happy

Sings and dances joyfully,

The child in me forgets evil,

And remembers only good,

As he doesn’t hold grudges,

He is inquisitive all right,

But creative too,

The child in me is full of love,

And he doesn’t judge

He often makes mistakes,

But he is very honest about them,

He doesn’t see people in color or tribe

In fact he always asks,

What makes us different?

The child in me dreams,

When he grows up

He wants to do the impossible,

He has no limits,

No boundaries,

He sees the beauty of God,

In the sun and moon,

He seeks out the stars,

And sings with the wind,

He is humble

As noble

He is not shy,

Not afraid to cry,

He knows of monsters,

But believes in good over evil,

How I love to see him,

The child in me


The sight of the land,





Of trees,



The beauty of the land,


Grand empty,



Rain lost,

The sky can’t boast,

As we are toast,

 Dry days

With no hey,


A beat,

Dry lands,

With no food,

So crude,


So painful,


The sun like a beast,

Ready for a feast,

No green,

And we can’t spin,


So Stubborn

As it is not as hot,

As it is cold


Water levels go down,

As animals and water life bow out

Cruel winds,



And Earthquakes,

Show their cruel faces

So painful


Elephant tasks,

Poacher’s masks,

Trail of dead lions,

White rhinos



Smelling cities,


Dirty waters,

And diseases


So painful

How we all look,

As it all falls apart

As we die from the inside,

We kill our God given earth,

For money?

Because of politics?

So…so painful


Please let’s keep it clean,

From one house to another,

For it does not hurt

Plant trees

And use clean energy,

May we love the gift of earth,

And realize its worth,

Conserve our wildlife,

And water bodies,

For its so painful


Ok I am here,

It’s not in my mind very clear,

But I am here,

As I prepare

To bury a man I knew not,

Because of a letter you wrote,

A man I never called father,

And for me you did bother,

As all I knew was my mother,

And brother,

But I am supposed to say goodbye,

As to myself lie,

That it my duty,

And it is a beauty,

To help you in peace rest,

Is it a waste?

Or is a test,

Bitterness in my mouth is the taste,

And empty thoughts of you,

Of you father I have no clue


They call you hero and that’s cool,

But I can’t remember you taking me to school

Is there a rule?

Or I can say that’s bull

Anyway, whats worse,

That I curse

Or that you were never there to nurse,

To teach me wrong from right,

Dark and bright,

When to fight

You were never there,

To my pain and successes share

My thoughts of you,

Like the colour of the sky, blue


I don’t remember you cuddling me to sleep,

Or wipe my tears I weep,

I didn’t see you in any of my birthdays,

And went by the nights and days,

As I yarned to know my father,

Braved the weather,

Of teenage with pain in my heart

As you thought it was smart,

To stay away,

Yes Dad, these are my thoughts of you today

















Please stay quiet as she comes,

Least she hears you questions ask,

She, the African woman today,

Build with the fabric of confusion,

To do whatever a man can do,

Left Right, left right, left wrong,

For she says she is strong,

Her name is Reginalda,

And she is not new to the game,

Neither does she have a little shame,

She says she does need a man,

But picks up the little boys,

And toys,

Her name is Reginalda,

And she is the modern day African woman,

I heard that black is no longer beauty,

Tint she calls it,

Supreme yet bothered by skin color,

And of course

 Cosmetic broadening of some parts of her body

Make up and break ups

Is her philosophy,

Reginalda is her name,

And she has a claim,

Opening up the political doors,


She can do whatsoever a man can do,

Yet her womenfolk remain the same,

School girls still miss school for lack of towels,

Early marriages still roar behind the scenes,

Domestic violence still breathing,

The wind of FGM still blowing

As Reginalda wines and dines in parliament,

The modern educated African woman she is,

Why cook when she can buy,

Why walk when she can fly,

All men are evil and bad,

They cheat I guess,

But remember,

Reginalda can do whatsoever men do,

Better than they do

Therefore ask your questions,

And seek your answers