O, potential victim to my
Innocent, yet you suffer for a separate notion,
A machete at hand, I slash oblivious of all restrictions,
Deranged me, a dark cloud I spell for all your generations.
I need just A pinch of salt, to give my fish a taste,
I unlock my shack and rush to yours in haste,
Kariuki, my salt bin runs dry…
Lend me some, yours may experience the same fate, another day…
A damn politician soon comes knocking,
“Kariuki has it all, while you continue lacking,
Make him pay, for he isn’t ‘ours’ by belonging,
A neighbour he is, but, forever will you keep borrowing?”
Furious, I burn down his belongings,
Just because someone thought it a necessity,
Hungry, emancipated, my children keep yawning,
But the politician, in a far land, is inspecting a parade.
Kariuki, rots in the ground,
If only I had known better,
For my children, he would provide bread and butter,
But blinded by unsubstantiated hate, I threw him to the gutter…
My hatred nevers provide, but just brings about anger and suffering.
I remember, Origi, plays ball,
To us kenyans, he is a son of all,
He flies the flag high and his Kenyan spirit makes him stay tall,
But upon his return, he is no more but a Luo.
Tribalism just steals,
In the abyss of darkness pulls us day in…
Day out; ill advised hatred darkens our beings,
Later, to realize that we are way too much in…
If only our diversity made us closer,
For beauty lies in differences,
Forever as one, we would keep merging ahead!