Her face tells it all

Her face tells a tale, so sad her tongue finds no word,
She reaches for her leso, the only comforter left,
She cries for her late husband, yet no grave to show,
Her pot lies on embers, the only reminder that she had a shelter.
She sniffs, not from fever, but from the tears that clot her speech.

She wishes her husband would be called Tom Ahmed Omondi Macharia,
At least he would be safe from harm,
In sunshine he would adopt a pair
Then at dusk take the remaining two,
He would be a chameleon, safe from prey as predator.

She looks at her son, modelling a gun from ash mixed with clay,
He seems happy, creating something he is used to seeing,
Little does he know that it took a father from him with a single spit,
And turned their hut to ash, the same ash and clay he models with.
Maybe he misses his sister, who was taken away,
By the great who took away his father's breathe.

She is a widow at 26, she takes up the role of the breadwinner,
Though with taxes, she remembers the taste of bread
as much as she remembers the days of Maziwa ya Nyayo.

She is aware of women empowerment, but it is just like gossip to her,
With her primary education, and fatherless family,
With a scant neighbourhood, no medical care in sight,
She has her own shortcomings to fight, and mosquitoes too.

Her smile is stale, it tells a tale,
Her appetite turned stale, her taste of the last meal is turned pale,
She has looked to the road for aid,
But her pregnant eyes made an empty delivery,
She remembers the governor's promise,
As much as he doesn't remember it.
Just look at her, her face tells it all.