Tribe Kills Poem by Leon Gakuo

See the youth on the streets
Not dancing in the rain
But homeless,
Desperate and hungry
Irony of a nation they call home
That can ill provide shelter

A government they call mother
That denies them the nipple of its full breast
As its children suffer,
Thin and thirsty
While the "government and its friends"
Suck dry the bounty of our own bosom

It's not a story of morals
But one of pain
Of election cycles
Of tribalist propaganda
Of gullible youth used to fulfill personal agendas
Of money, tribes and votes
But it's not votes is it?
Instead a compromised future and livelihood

It's not a story with a happy ending
But one with senseless killings
By under paid men in blue
Underpaid to protect, but also to kill those they protect.
At the behest of the despots
Children lie dead on balconies
Crying toddlers never to know their fathers
Widows in cold beds, with distant eyes and lonely souls

It doesn't fill the mind with joy to remember
But it would be wise to not forget
And perhaps escape the temporary Alzheimer's that engulfs us
Whenever it is time to cast ballots
Only then reminding us
How important our tribes are
And how only those from our tribe are fit to lead
As if being Kenyan was suddenly not enough

But when the sun sets and night falls
Their kinsmen are in office
And they return home to their families
Alone to toil and fend as it has always been
Only then does it dawn on us,
The only tribes are the haves and the have nots
And not everyone belongs