Bunguswa Writes.

In the halls of knowledge, you planted seeds, Fertile minds nourished by your deeds. Not just a teacher, but a sculptor of souls, Molding lives, making broken hearts whole. Your chalk traced not just facts on a board, But dreams and hopes you boldly restored. A coach in life, on and off the field, Harvesting strength where others would yield. With every lesson, your wisdom poured, A river of insight that endlessly roared. You taught us to see beyond the lens of books, To find life’s wonders in hidden nooks. Your voice, a compass, pointed true north, Guiding us bravely to bring our worth forth. And though you held a whistle in hand, You taught us that winning is taking a stand. Handball courts echoed your fiery call, Where teamwork flourished, and no one fell small. Victories transcended trophies and fame, For you played for growth, not just the game. Now, a principal—pillar of a new sphere, Inspiring many through kindness sincere. Your mantle bears both wisdom and grace, A ...

Water, a mirror to the soul’s ache, Baptism and flood in the same embrace, Life rises where its veins do wake, Yet death lingers in its calmest face. Oh, life, you ripple with tides unseen, A gentle stream, or an ocean’s rage, Your depths conceal what has never been, A boundless book with no final page. Drink deeply, they say, for life must grow, Yet the drought of meaning parches the tongue, We wade through currents we’ll never know, Where the old remain, and the young die young. Rivers carve paths, etching time in stone, Yet currents twist dreams into tangled lines, A force that binds, yet leaves us alone, In search of shores no compass defines. What is the taste of a life well-spent? Clear as dew or bitter as brine? We chase the cascade where joy has leant, But grasp only air at the fall’s decline. Water drips softly; it deafens the still, Each drop, a question the heart can’t ignore, Is it life that molds us, or our own will? Can the source be pure if the streams are wa...

They slit the throat of the night’s voice, Crimson spilled where truth once stood. Richard, son of our soil, A beacon of courage snuffed by cowards' hands, Now his song echoes in the silence, A whisper that thunders in our hearts. Oh, government of iron fists and deafened ears, Must justice bleed for your comfort? Must truth be buried beneath your throne? You, who wrap yourself in laws like a shroud, Yet your deeds reek of daggers and shadows. The wind has carried his cries to the mountains, The rivers murmur his name to the sea. Molo weeps, its soil soaked with betrayal, Yet the seeds of resistance sprout in every tear. You cannot uproot the will to rise— Even the most brutal storm spares the roots. His young ones will grow beneath this scorched sky, But their father’s dream will feed their hunger. For every voice you silence, A thousand tongues will rise, For every light you snuff, The stars will burn brighter. People of the soil, sons and daughters of defiance, Do no...

Anthem of the oppressed   By Bunguswa Brian Oh land once blessed, a jewel untamed, Now scarred and beaten, your beauty maimed. The sun once shone on your fertile plains, Now darkened skies bear freedom’s chains. Your rivers murmur of sorrow’s weight, Your winds whisper tales of a stolen fate. The president reigns, a shadowed king, His word is law; his praises they sing. Legislators kneel, their conscience sold, For pieces of silver, for promises cold. The judiciary too, once noble, once pure, Now dances to tunes they cannot endure. Opposition leaders, once fiery, once bold, Now wear cloaks of deceit, their principles sold. Their fists once clenched, their voices once high, Now softened by bribes, they watch us die. Oh, where is the courage, the strength, the might, To stand for the people, to fight the fight? The common man bears the burden alone, In fields of despair, seeds of hope are sown. But their cries are drowned by the tyrant’s roar, Their dreams are trampled on...

  Theme The poem reflects on the passage of time, the loss of innocence, and the transformation of a once-vibrant natural and social landscape. It weaves together nostalgia, joy, and regret, creating a tapestry of childhood memories juxtaposed with the harsh reality of environmental degradation and cultural loss. The river Cheptwakin, central to the poem, symbolizes life, unity, and the interconnectedness of nature and human experience.   Structure and Tone The poem is structured into ten stanzas, each vividly recounting moments from the speaker's childhood while progressively moving towards the sorrow of the present. The tone shifts from joyous and reflective in the first stanzas to mournful and regretful in the latter, mirroring the emotional journey of looking back on a cherished past that has been irrevocably altered.   Imagery and Symbolism   The River  : Cheptwakin symbolizes not only the flow of time but also a source of life and community. Its vibrant pr...