My Motherland

My eyes are sore. I have cried for you for far so long. Looking at you now through, teary bloodshot eyes, I can’t help pitying you. However, pity on you is pity on me. You are my mother, my father, my brother and my sister. You are my heritage, my roots and my future. You are me.

I sit on the sidelines everyday and watch as my eldest brothers and sisters fight with our cousins. Wearing expensive suits and driving those big cars you would think they have anything between their ears, inside their skulls. They have grown horns, they no longer neither listen to us, the young ones nor pay any attention to the words of their wise parents and elders. Greed and senseless hunger for power is eating them alive. All they see us for is their slaves and clueless packs of hyenas. Hyenas they can get rid of when we serve our purpose in their endless quest for power and show for might.

I weep for my brothers and sisters born second after our eldest. In their rush to support our elder kinsmen, they trample over us. They forget they will need us to line with or behind them on judgment day. They forget that we are their soul source of resources. They treat us like outlaws, like we don’t belong. They take us for granted.

Many of my peers are lost. Time and again, they allow themselves to be treated like tree stumps or recyclable plastic. They fall farther into nothingness every time our eldest stage one of their show of might parades. Many result to cheap consumables that eat them away like cancer and many others sink into grave poverty. For the rest of us, everyday is a fight just to survive. We make endless sacrifices that only God notices. Very few of the vultures that are our eldest and second born kinsmen and cousins notice let alone recognize our efforts.

I thank God for our elders. By elders, I mean all the wise people out there trying to drum sense into the madly selfish world I live in. Before you quote me out of context, wise does not necessarily mean old. I salute all of our brothers, sisters and cousins telling our stories back to us and to our neighbors; near, far and wide. Traditionally, warriors were and still should be protectors. I respect those few of our warriors that have not and are not contemplating crossing over from protectors to predators. For all of you who are like me; fighting to take back our respect and restoration of law, order and justice; you hold a special place in my heart.

Let this be a warning to all of you brothers, sisters and cousins. I am on a warpath and I am fighting to survive. You have walked on me for so long. I am tired of your constant lies and empty promises. I refuse to follow you anymore. I am going my own way, a righteous one and I will find justice.

Cleanse your houses and cultivate love before I get to your doorstep. I am burning down your bridges of hate, tribalism and ethnicity. I am knocked down all your walls within which filthy corrupt deals are made. I am distilling all your hate-filled messages and cutting out your poisonous tongues. It is not revenge. I have to take back my motherland.

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By George Mwangi
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Lifeless

            I am an empty skin,
            Hollow and clumsy like a creased skirt,
            Bare and dirty with no humane skill,
            Maybe if I rode my brain as a skate,
            It wouldn't just be filling my skull.

            My head is stuck in a bucket,
            Hoping to shoot away like a bullet,
            My hands enslaved by the national budget.

            Engulfed by dreams and illusions,
            I am a man with no moral obligations,
            Pessimistic with selfish intentions,
            Living in grave fear of dark secret legions,
            Hiding from me and my broken relations.

            I feel hopeless and useless,
            Endless loneliness,
            Senseless and lifeless.
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By George Mwangi
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