Poezja

We are all just like tripe
The zombies in my tribe
Accepting to be used-up
Our humanity usurped
Our voices muffled
And morality scuffled
Swayed to animosity
Towns turning death cities
For the non-tribe men
Machetes turn to pens
Signing away others’ lives
Husbands, lynching wives
Neighbors, filching friends
Imposing themselves gods
Our basic premise, kinship
Killing Chacha and Maina
Mangling Shasha and Mania
Because they’re not Awours
The Presidents Amours
Thinking its forgiven
Hoping its forgotten
But you can rest assured
For these treacherous sins
We Sure Shall Pay