The air was cold and I could feel it
from my mother’s house,
Election had come and passed,
People couldn’t let the result get past,
It was Kenyans worst.
Neighbors become suspicious,
The friendship that was once delicious,
Now became an image that’s fictitious,
Not a word would describe it even
malicious.
That very night changed it all,
They threw a petrol bomb through my mum’s
bedroom window wall,
Care free people with no soul,
Intended to clear whole family in a fire
ball.
My mother & aunty could have died
that night,
Because my tribe was not right,
This is our Kenyan plight,
Tribalism is our daily fight.
It’s hard for me to forget,
Sometimes my cheeks get wet,
As politicians hold our trust in debt,
Gambling with our life as a bet.
As I’m writing everyone is alive,
Lucky to see death by its eyes,
Lucky to tell a story that will make me heal,
Lucky that few people know they are
lucky when they act mucky.
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