Poverty Grave Poem by DEDAN ONYANGO

I saw him stagger across the road
His bears had turned gray,
His back had bended forward,
To give a lucky guess of years
Which one would place it at 80.
Age seemed to have the better of him.

But hey! I know the man,
Age has just robbed him of life,
Ooh! The poor lad,
He dug his own poverty grave!

He thought he knew how to handle life
He thought happiness was planted in alcohol
Where he could reach for greatness,
So together with his friends
They began sneaking out of school,
For them education was not the key,
But a waste of time!
He dug his own grave!

Soon alcohol could not get him a notch higher enough,
And weed was added to the MENU,
Not that taught by his agriculture teacher
But that which he called GANJA,
“The holy weed”
By now he was expelled from school,
I saw him dig his own poverty grave!

His love for women,
His untamed lust,
Today he lives infected with HIV/AIDS
I saw him in that too.
Countless times he has been warned against alcohol
Even more times against cigarettes.

Today his lungs and livers are gone,
And doctors say the clock is ticking
He has days
May be months,
If lucky a year or two,
I saw it all.

I warned him,
Ooh! That’s my beloved son, I begged him,
He looks older than me today,
I shouted at him!
Today I shout at you,
DON’T DIG YOUR OWN GRAVE!

Bad company ruins good morals,
My son avoid it,
Less you be like your brother,
Walk with people of integrity,
People with a vision of a better tomorrow,
Join social clubs,
Engage in sporting activities,
By all means AVOID DRUGS.