Mother Country

Sons of K'nya,

Daughters of K'nya,

Our land of pride

Has been revised

By the looters,

The thieves of thieves.

They've rewritten our laws

To suit their own agenda

To plunder our green,

Our flag, they want colorless.

The budget soars

High in the sky,

Affordable only for

The privileged few.

People take to the streets

Of central Nairobi,

Striking in shifts,

Thrice a week,

Once or twice

Under the moon.

Strikes flow freely,

Strikers swarm

Like bees in the nation's streets,

Their voices calling from afar,

But unheard,

Instead met with black and white smoke,

Their pleas ignored.

Their tears flow

Like the waters of Nyando,

Streaming relentlessly,

Drowning out their needs,

Silencing their voices.

Orders come from above,

To end the strike,

To clear the streets' congestion,

To suppress the seekers of justice,

The oppressor's hand strikes,

Weakening the resistance.

What will our neighbors say?

Our Excellency, the one who kills

The future of his subjects,

A lion who commands

His blue-clad soldiers

To conquer and subdue.

A misguided king

Who summons cheetahs

To prey upon the innocent

Creatures of the land.

Now behold, the nation is in darkness,

Movement is chaotic,

Businesses shuttered,

Investors flee,

Churches divided by decisions,

Oh, Excellency!

The Zacchaeus of our land,

The Levi of our generation,

Offering a small relief

To your tearful people,

Would it not kill you?

The white of our flag

Is no longer pure,

But the red still reigns,

As a reminder of your deeds,

A call for justice,

A plea for the nation's restoration.