A Voter's Blues Poem by Wafula p'Khisa

a time shall come, like ages before
when these deserted villages will burst into laughter
every prodigal would return on a colourful motorcade, singing redemption anew
with lots of bloody gifts, to buy our trust and cool our temper.

we'll forget the pearl of brotherhood we've cherished for a while
and tear each other with their sharp, divisive tongues
blood will be shed, and a life or two lost
in the tussle to crown our tribal demigods
and the ballot will overflow, with or without our true votes!

then, like migratory birds, they'll fly to unknown lands yonder
to feast on their fortune, free from our nauseating nagging & excessive hunger
we'll return to our dungeons & broken families; wounded and dying
without neighbours to run to for salt, flour or comfort

rivers shall remain dry, and prices shoot high
we shall starve and grow thin as their stomachs swell with affluence
and die prematurely when hospitals lack drugs & medics go on strike
preachers would come, with wide smiles; selling the word and anointing oil
conquer us spiritually, and pray we forgive and forget
but our stars shall remain dim, and our homes know no joy or laughter

until the next season.