Bunguswa Writes.

Beneath the skies of Maliki, where whispers played, River Cheptwakin, your ripples swayed. You bore our laughter, our youthful cheer, A lifeline of joy, ever flowing near. The dawn would break with a cow’s low call, Alan and I, through morning's sprawl, Took turns to tread your grassy bed, Or stayed to tend our hearth instead. With skipping hearts, we’d skip our meal, Guided by play's unyielding zeal. Barefooted bands by the river met, With teams from blocks, our lines were set. Your waters sang as we took our leap, Swimming with fish, your secrets deep. Where snakes would hide in shadowed greens, Our courage swam in youthful scenes. Yet cows, unguarded, would wander free, Their mischief wrought in plantations’ spree. The sting of beatings met our jest, A small price paid for the games we blessed. Lunch abandoned, the hours flew, Our skins turned white as dirt withdrew. Your muddy embrace, a timeless balm, Gave us peace, untainted calm. But now, the land that kissed...

Behold the wind, how it whispers truth Through hollow halls of power and gilded lies, Yet, your courtiers weave a cloak of deceit, Blind to the threads unraveling before their eyes. O King of Shadows, perched on brittle thrones, Your rule is a storm, uprooting tender roots. Where cries of the stolen pierce the night, You gather silence, harvesting bitter fruits. The roads are littered with the dropped, displaced, Abductees returned like whispers in the dark. Their scars, unseen, yet stories traced On hearts that bear your empire’s mark. Your sycophants, with swollen pride, Sing praises to a crown of thorns. "Extend the reign!" they bellow wide, Unmoved by fields of withered corn. But can you not hear the earth’s lament? The soil churns with the tears of the oppressed. Each threat you sow, each soul you torment, Is the fabric unraveling from your hollow vest. O President, your nakedness gleams, A truth your cronies dare not reveal. For power blinds, and vanity drea...

At a mother’s funeral, where tears should reign, Songs of praise masked the people's pain. A president’s brigade stood, stern and cold, While hearts of young Kenyans grew weary and bold. Children vanish, snatched by the night, Their cries muffled, out of sight. “Self-abductions!” the cronies jeer, But truth whispers where courage is near. Governor George, a lion, stood tall, In the silence of fear, he answered the call. “Stop the abductions,” his voice did declare, To a president who turned from despair. Oh, Natembeya, the people’s knight, You lit a torch in the darkest night. The oppressed cheer your bold refrain, For justice spoken is never in vain. Yet the cronies cast stones, their tongues sharp as blades, Defending the silence where justice fades. But we, the people, hold you dear, A beacon of hope, a voice sincere. In Western lands where hunger thrives, Natembeya spoke of struggling lives. Truth cut deep through the fabric of lies, Unmasking a leader who blinds hi...

Beneath the moon's reluctant glow, Where shadows stretch and whispers grow, Another name is carved in pain, Another voice we’ll never hear again. Ibrahim Hilal, a beacon, a flame, Reduced to a number, erased to a name. Once he walked where courage led, Now he lies cold, his dreams all bled. In a morgue’s embrace, his story ends, A life betrayed by those who pretend To guard the people, to serve the land, Yet bury truth with a ruthless hand. Do you hear the mothers weep at night? Do you see their tears in the fading light? Each drop a plea, each sob a call, For justice silenced, for freedoms that fall. Oh, Mr. President, what have you done? You wage a war against your own son. You pluck the youth like flowers in bloom, And plant their bodies in unmarked tombs. They vanish like smoke, like dreams at dawn, Stolen futures, forever gone. And yet their silence screams in the air, A haunting dirge, a heavy despair. How many more must disappear? How many more must die in fear? ...

The night whispers, cloaked in fear, Children vanish like stars from the sky, Their cries are drowned by the roar of silence, As plainclothes walk with masks of lies. The president speaks, his voice a distant echo, "Let the youth be careful with their words," But the chains of truth are in his hands, Wrapped tight around the throat of the world. The streets are filled with shadows, Where hope once danced in the sun, Now only agony blooms in the hearts of mothers, As the cost of corruption weighs a ton. The economy stumbles, broken in the dust, While pockets are lined with stolen gold, The people’s tears are forgotten rivers, As the hungry grow tired and old. Yet, he promises again, "End it, I will, if they learn to behave," But who will stop the silence from feeding, The monsters he says they must brave? In the midst of a nation torn asunder, The truth lies heavy, a stone on the chest, Governance is a mirage in the distance, A leader who swears but bring...

Beneath the cobalt dome where shadows linger, I see your smile, a flame on the edge of memory's finger. Oh, Lynnet, you were the hymn my heart hummed In the unbroken dawn of youth, when we danced Through corridors of laughter, Chasing echoes that rippled like sunlight on water. Your name was a bird perched in my chest, Its wings unfurling with every heartbeat, A melody only I could hear, Yet now, its song is silenced by distance's cruel hand. We were rebels against the winds of fate, Planting dreams in fields our families forbade. But those dreams were plucked by storms, Their petals scattered in the ache of separation. Now, you wear another’s name, And I, a keeper of our yesterday. Your whispers find me like mist, “I miss you,” you say, a fragile confession That falls like rain on the parched plains of my soul. I miss you too— Not just the you of now, But the you that belonged to the golden haze of high school, The you that cradled my first fumbling love With hands...

Despite the cries that pierce the skies, The stolen dreams, the muffled sighs, The youth are vanished, one by one, Their shadows lost beneath the sun. A force in plainclothes prowls the land, With cold resolve and iron hand. The cries of mothers, fathers’ tears, Are drowned beneath their reign of fears. Yet still we rise, unbroken, strong, Our spirits blaze, they sing a song. You take our youth, but not our fight, Our hearts still burn with freedom’s light. O president, hear this nation’s plea, The chains you forge will never be. We will not rest, we will not tire, Until we quench this raging fire. The streets will echo with our call, Until your walls of silence fall. No mask can hide, no cloak conceal, The truth we know, the pain we feel. For every voice you try to still, A thousand more will climb the hill. We’ll fight with courage, hope, and grace, Until justice finds its rightful place. © Bunguswa ™