GREAT KEAN CITY

In days of uncertainty,
Fortune is dragged no further from death by fate,
This is all I conclude,
As on a street corner,
I sit and watch,
Like a tired journalist on eleventh hour,
A midst restlessness and despair,
In search of a breath- taking week pick.
Oh busy termites,
Do you ever rest?
To all directions you move,
Some, mumbling to themselves,
What do they say? God knows,
What are they thinking? I don’t know,
Can you tell me?
Don’t those shattered fractured
Hopes bother you too?

On scarce city grass,
Helplessly lie tired bones,
As though lifeless,
Neither the passing people,
Nor the noisy vehicles bother them,
Shot of grass,
On hot pavements they lie,
Don’t they feel the scorching sun?
Are they hungry or just tired?
Who dare ask them?
They are street men, women and kids!
We are too a noble species
(To twist reality)
What else we can’t mix,
Kean City a dilemma.
Is life a match in a pitch?
With a discriminative referee?
Oh! No, life’s referee is God,
All non-discriminative,
His ambassadors all over,
Some doubt their work, an inch apart,
But to take it on the face,
Doubts right in place,
Who’s best?
I won’t test,
It’s God they call,
For you and I to smile,
Our eyes tear filled,
As on the other end,
On a man’s neck hang a tyre.

Caught with long hands,
Oh dear, round the bend,
My beloved ones, cries the man,
His pursuers turn,
And sees a nursery,
Is that their teacher?
Oh! No, mother,
All in tatters,
My fortieth day, fight against economy,
Pray my family in Kean city,
A sorrowful scene,
Who lacks a heart?
Oh passers-by,
My begging neighbour,
Arms stretched throughout the hour
Passing pockets coin less!
But where have the dropped ones gone?

Oh, Kean City,
What do I eat, junk?
No, doctor said,
A fruit, yark! So flat,
Ah! After all I’m a penniless street idler,
Not a pinch of salt,
Not a drop of water,
In my slum iron patch hut,
Real valuables, ha ha,
Who knows?
I fit Kim’s suit,
And Mbugua’s shoes, splendid!
Kinya’s pair of socks match well.

It’s evening, workers and jobless-home,
One hand in pocket,
Hear tip tap of my shoes
Kean City king is passing!
Am I not a graduate!
Who was hopeful like students?
But all offices close at my appearance,
So, a face I must make to please “she”,
Keen City demands,
To be real man for she,
Life is tooth and nail in Kean City,
Hurray! Kean City, back to hoe.