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 bul
Where Words and Worlds Collide