Mob Injustice Poem by alexander opicho

You are in Kenya or anywhere in Africa
It is noon time or hunger time
Not lunch time becoz not all will eat
Swams of humanity suffocating the city
Toing and froing in search of victuals
To rich very rich sleazing in the bastions of Japan
The poor too on the street slow and confused
Tortured by my despair of; what I will eat now?
The idle mobs in rapscallion outage ready to lynch
Foul mob justice as the mob injustice.

Small and stunted a black poor soul
A street urchin perhaps known as chokora
In the land parlance of the indifference
From hint the street the mind impaired
By pangs of hunger, destitution or depravity
Snatched away a roasted may of indolent trader
Off to his heels! Justice of the legs the maize in the cheeks
Black poor soul saving the skin as he succours the stomach
But how far can you go in the power of the muscles
Before the black folks Usain Bolts ancestors
They mete out mob justice damn mob injustice.
From the loafing riffraff an idler shot out
Towards the pursuing the lad
Amid dint of noise shouting a thief! Thief!
Hoards of poor humanity in tandem charged
Towards the thief in murderous fit to full charge
In a second flick the thief was on the ground under volley
Of blows and kicks, whacks and jabs bludgeoning
The maize is no where the swallowed
In one grant munch of it the thief swallowed
Before the deathly human oceans
Engulfed on him with justice of the mob
On the sport killing the lad via mob injustice.

After this task street mobs go idle again
Breathing like boilers in the factory chimneys of America
Seeing no fault condemning theft with mighty of folly
Leaving the carcass of dead lad to rot into oblivion
But from nowhere a cloud of lack falls
For the lazy mobs as loud sirens harbingers arrival
Of chief the honorable minister
From the capital city far away in the sun
All the mobs in to song and dance broke
Welcoming the Minister to the mob justice
Where heavily thrives mob injustice.
The minister is (in) famed for riches and rupees
Having all money in his golden briefcase
He has hoarded all the monies in the suitcase
All the Famine money and welfare money
All the Housing money and education fund
All the Crematory money and idling money
All the Medicare money and money of money
No mob justice can get the minister
For his theft is noble theft Nobel Prize theft
Yes, Nobel Prize thieves the potentates
No mob justice unto them, uhm! The Mob injustice.