Down With The Old Boot! Poem by Wafula p'Khisa

a man doesn't dance twice in the arena
no matter how best he folds his limbs & wriggles his body
to follow the rhythm of the drum.
when nightfall comes, and the drum threatens to tear our ears;
he should retire, and let youngsters rise
to dance the night away with newest songs of the season
too much of something drives one to the grave!
So?
dipping our heads in sand, like the proverbial ostrich
to spare our hearts the agony of their awful ways
because it's taboo for a child to see an elder's nakedness
won't save us from our eminent doom
old ideas have lost vigour and valour, thus dance lame before our eyes;
it's now time for the newest to sprout
and usher in long awaited moment of glory
if the ballot won't birth the freedom we long to enjoy
certainly, the bullet will, at a severe cost though
we shall bleed & sweat, nothing's free, nothing's free!
Soon, after clouds have gathered, and the skies burst into fresh tears
to settle the dust of the Sahara
Let every soul be armed with a vote and a fire-spitting stick
Should one fail, the other won't.