Reign of Terror.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     At each point
Teas are taken--
Strictly
As if it's tax.

Sweat and blood
Are siphoned
By uniformed dogs
Stinginess on faces;
Registers wrath
Terror reigns thus...

Trees of life
Are ever taller
During fruition:
We can't climb
Nothing we reap thus...

Like the serpent accursed
In dust we crawl--
Hungry and sick
Praying, forever praying
A radical star
Amid us to emerge.

We, destitutes
Scatter spoiled seeds--
Into men sprouting
Who, upon wetting throats;
With wines of arrogance
For ages sleep
Leaving us for winds thus...

Who points
Them in the eye?
Oh, brother
Your itchy throat
Will overnight
Be slit!

Crumbs of justice
Falling at a pauper's feet
Is like water in Sahara
He will never taste
Even if for ages waits...

Knowledge givers prefer
Walk to chalk--
In filthy streets
Crying for pay-rise...

Hoe-men hoard food
To wander like vagrants
Crying for rise of rice;
And mechanics of our bodies,
Seriously toy
With souls ailing!

(c) Wafula p'Khisa
-Lirango Lienjofu-