A Nation in Paradox

Today, we drape the sky with flags,

Colors bleed hope, as drums beat loud —

But beneath the noise, an aching silence,

Where scalpel-wielding hands fold into fists,

Healers striking against empty promises,

Their oaths suffocating under unpaid bills.

Millions of shillings bloom into banners,

Fireworks flare while pockets tear,

The horizon bursts in dazzling hues,

Yet classrooms crumble, walls whispering collapse,

A university choked by greed,

The root rot concealed by unity slogans,

Ethnic vines wrapping around funds,

Squeezing life until knowledge gasps.

Independence — sixty years heavy,

The word hangs hollow as shadows lengthen,

Masked figures sweep dissent off the streets,

Where freedom is cuffed and bundled into dark vans,

Liberty gagged by the very hands

That once lifted the flag.

And still, women scream beneath the stars —

Their cries lost in clouds of tear gas,

Justice disperses like smoke,

Arrests scribbled over their grief,

While the dead still whisper from graves unmarked,

"Is this the freedom we were promised?"

So we stand on this day,

Celebrating while shackled,

Flags in hand, wounds in heart,

As independence dances in paradox,

A cruel masquerade where truth

Bleeds through the seams of our joy.

© Bunguswa