To be Kenyan in 2021
A true story about a struggling neo-colony.
Traipsing around our own territory like trespassers,
We heed curfews as in dictatorships while we question vaccine aware/preparedness,
But hey, at least we aren’t Ugandan, protesting and being silenced,
At least we aren’t Tanzanian, being subjected to ignorance and dogma as violence,
We aren’t like Rwanda either, that suppressed time bomb ticking away much to Kagame’s 96% voter distress,
As social media entities cooperate in harnessing the power of the masses,
We huddle to their sites to flaunt our baggage.
Change hurts,
It’s a bit like the sneaky bassline beneath these furtive high-hat bursts,
It comes and tickles your fancies with lust,
Then leaves you wondering if it’s worth your trust,
Because it just casually enjoys to hurt.
So you get tired of being burnt,
Like a spent filter, you’re down in the dirt,
So it’s time to pick yourself up,
But wait,
It’s so comfortable with this ochre-red soil on my butt,
Let me sit a while longer, leaning back, wouldn’t hurt...
Stay alert!
In the same way as above, so below,
We continue to be fooled each and every quinary cycle by chattering hypocrites; are we all on blow?
And in this life, gab is surely all for show.
Where are the five national stadia, five x two years later?
= Tangatanga, Kieleweke, BBI, (KEMSA? Sugar? Do you have clean, drinkable water and sanitation?)
= #Siasa
Does your vote count when about 70% of the population is composed of 5 tribes?
Does your vote count when you estranged/even murdered a family over a bunch of arbitrary, colonial lines?
Does your say matter to those you vote for if you say, Nígũtee, and still offer up your minds to the imperial charade that is B.B.I?
I suspect it’s high time,
We took off the British-Sinowashed, selective tint of our colonised minds,
And saw the snake between our aristocratic captors' eyes,
For those that see, let us rise.
Yours in perpetuity,
Meditating daily,
Mbora Muthee.
