Skip to main content

WAR!!!


It was war, everything was a flaw,
Blood was graffiti on the walls, painted on the floor,
The cut-throats were many,
The timid casualties were many,
The sound of gunshots tore into the rowdy night,
Disturbing my restless sleep every night,
The soldiers’ wails were high,
And death seemed to be nigh.

I was fourteen, blameless,
Hapless,
The war snailed my development pace,
Hopeless,
My education was cared for less,
I, a victim of circumstances,
Helpless!

My father’s head was chopped off,
My mother’s ears were chopped off,
And when I turned fifteen,
I was parentless, so the army took me in,
I didn’t resist, couldn’t resist,
I had seen how they slaughtered, those who did desist. 
On the battle ground, the frontline I was placed,
“Fight for our freedom”, that’s what the general said,
A gun in hand, a grenade in hand,
I was fighting, for a course that was ‘grand’
Boom! The explosions were many,
Khainga died, Wanjala! They all lay with many,
And the gritty bullets shuttered my bones,
And blood oozed from my comrades’ lifeless bodies.

My mind went dark,
Everything was pitch-black,
When I stirred, I had bandages on my head,
Two soldiers sat dining, next to my hospital bed,
Legless and penniless, I had been shot thrice,
“A rebel”, that’s what the judge said,” Cold as ice. "
The war was finished, I was too,
I had lost a leg, and an arm too,
And the court leniently declared with sense,
Ten years behind bars, l’d spend as my sentence.

Now I’m thirty two, in the court of law,
Hoping not to face another blow,
I demand for compensation, for my pain,
I have wallowed in abject poverty,
I have been lone, a casualty,
Justice must be done for me,
For the terrible sins, sinned against me.

The Kapsabet PEN club president.


Popular posts from this blog

Dear future wife

   Dear future wife, It is with a joyful heart I write to you without any idea of whether you will read or not. That won't stop me from writing because initially writing is my thing. I would have written a book to tell you this but I realized that I might end raising false hopes for some. Ergo, I'll cut the long wiggling tail short and head straight to my issue like a thunderbolt. Life is an interesting experience but of late I have been thinking what interest will you come with. I have grown so fond of writing love stories and poems, not forgetting the beautiful ladies I dedicate poems to and feature their mouthwatering photos on my blog. Well, I'm not trying to tell you what I'm doing but trying to give you a heads up of what lays ahead of you. When I will ask you the golden question, believe me, I wouldn't mind if you hesitate for a moment. I am a risk you won't afford to engage with without risking a lot, please forgive I'm a nuisance and not hoping

Negativity attracts negative activity

Everything we do wrong attracts negative things. When I say: everything we do wrong attracts negative things people soon think that it refers to doing evil to our neighbor, alias, we reap what we sow, however, we can do wrong in different ways without causing evil to the next, as lying, being uneducated, disobedient, breaking a rule or law, disrespect to the neighbor, being prejudiced, among other situations. A politician once said the following phrase: worse than this does not happen, and it is not so because everything that does wrong attracts negative things and negative things attracts negative things, we can see that in some developed countries people respect rules and laws in a large majority, few hear of crimes, people are generous and educated, quality and health education among other qualities, and on the contrary, in countries where corruption is heard, the crime rate is high, people are not respect rules and laws, bad salary, bad people and violent, in fact, worse t

WHY I WRITE

My literary ambitions are mixed up with feelings of being isolated and undervalued. I know I have a facility for words and a power of facing unpleasant facts and situations, and I feel that I’ve created some sort of private life in literature in which I can get my own back for my failures, especially academically, in my everyday life. I do not only report to others but also to myself first and foremost. I like the communication aspect of writing since it gives me a ‘somewhat’ safe platform to question the authority, societal rules, culture and identity.  I write not only to find a way into the world but also to hold it away from me so that sheer, senseless events would not devour me. I usually feel this powerful adrenaline rush and if I am in bed, I jump out and reach for my ever present pen, a paper and my old flashlight in order to pen down my sentiments. As most writers have sagely implied, during that compulsive state of inspiration, I replica a pregnant woman in labour pains