The Visitor Poem by ckim mbasa

They hide many things in haste
Cleaning all corners of our compound
Swept all homes of rodents that came to seek asylum
From dawn to dusk they continued
Leaving no stone unturned was told
Ruminants were left homeless among others

No job is bad job they continued
Sweat came to rest after a working day
After flowing like a river in its youthful stage
Why the haste?
It’s me asking
Clearer answers weren’t in place.

They hid olden utensils and replaced with new
Babies washed for their first time in a fortnight
Smeared with oils and ointments
Old men and women locked in locker rooms yelling
Madmen and women transported miles away in search of a country free from the mad and the olden
In a locker room, I sat down and started to think