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Paul Oguda

Kry Baby Kry

Old men shed no tears
Like the winds of the desert
Their eyes are dry
Lowering in respect my hat
Baby you will have to cry
Fleeting away in time
Of broken dreams and promises
Our lives seems like a crime
Blame it on me
From the dollar to the dime
Cry baby cry
Our betrayed revolution
Land grabbing by our founding fathers
Freedom fighters not getting restitution
Oppressing our people and enriching others
The ruling elite raping the constitution
Takes me farther
To the underbelly of imperialism
Our initially bright sunrise
Has gone all glum

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My Rebel

She wears no makeup
Only lip gloss to make her lips glow
She is proud of her hair
Only water relaxes her coarse afro
She scans fashion magazines
Only to mock prices of Gucci and prada
My rebel
Her wardrobe lacks stilettoes
All she collects is converse Allstar
Taylor gang like wiz khalifa
Her idol is Che guevara
All she reads is history and African literature
Her favourite sport is soccer

All she supports is Gor Mahia
My rebel
Knows about African socialism
Like she would have known her colours
Knows Paris for its museum and art
Like she would have known it

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AUGUST THE 7th

In our cacoon
Of solitude
And a promising future
Came a BEAST
Some say from the east
Its origin
And mission
Was cloudy like mist
No one could visualize
But its effect
Will forever be in our minds
August the 7th
Was our waterloo
But we can’t overlook
What it taught us
Cause in the defeat
We came up victorious
We rose from our sleep
And turned vigilant
For

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Red BMX Bicycle

There was a small boy
In the countryside
Who had a small red BMX bicycle
Kept in the store besides the herbicides
Every evening like a cycle
He would ride down the dusty road
The sun a yellow ball
on the west side
Glittering under the sun`s rays
Was that small
RED BMX BICYCLE
There was a smaller boy
In the countryside
Who had nothing…
Totally nothing
He was a friend to the small boy
Every evening like a cycle
He would wait by the dusty road
To have a chance
On the small red BMX bicycle

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