We are all together in this madness. Side by side, unwittingly, indifferently. Our hell has come.
To my dear beloved- I know what it is to love, and I do not give it to my country sparingly.
To my kin- what worth is the soil in which I shall be buried, if my living soul didn't not walk above it free?
To my friends- our youth will turn a bend, and in the confines of life's sudden meanders. Great terror. No escape is too far off. No retreat too secure. Hold fast, here comes the terror of might!
To the youth- In Christ's example, endure these nights of wilderness.
Youth is used against you when the promise of the future beats the quiet observance of the past. We live in a time of mass uncertainty, do not let the old promises of the elite, rob you of this great awakening. Guard your dreams with desperate hands, give it a dead man's clutch. Do not relinquish your power!
The elusive hunt.
It is difficult to hold and weigh a dream. In this quiet night, I think of all the weight lost. The burdens relieved, and the new ones bestowed. I think of crying mothers, and frightened children. I think of the death of naivety.
We have been on the hunt, and the dusk has grown too weary. In the distance, comes a striking darkness. Cold, and chilling. Shrouding us in it's opacity. Holding all the light captive. Though our candles still flicker, fickle and dimly. There still glows a yearning light.
The fear of living in those fabled dark times, has reached our homes, and sips into our hearts, and in every piece of earth we call home. The sad reality dawns on the tired and weary. Our night has just began, and the hounds are wailing.
The courage to act, to refuse, and resist against all odds, this oppressive ministry. Falls to us the young inheritors of time and history. It is up to us to hold this country's last banner of freedom. To keep it's last flame alive, and to speak to the equal and different in mind. It is our time to shape our little child's destiny.
We are on the hunt, and no sacrifice is too big to offer, and no act is too small to honour- in this great and deathly hunt.
The youth in this country have touched something ethereal, that speaks to us spiritually. Like molting skin, new shades of hope emerge. In this hope; new fears and challenges arise. We are met at each turn with the use of force. Reason is abandoned, and power is used inexplicably, indiscriminately. Against the young, and old, mothers and children. It doesn't discriminate because this power exists for its own sake. It favours no one, but it's masters.
The cold apprehension that seizes my body is a revulsion of the times I live in. In witnessing the chaos, and lawlessness that the hunt now plunges us in. I am no longer interested in the final outcome of this pursuit. For the trail of blood is long, and thick. The lost lives speak silently, entombed in injustice. For if these lying dead cannot speak, who then shall speak for them? They too participated in this long and wild hunt. They too were willing to seek the prize. Who will claim it for them?
The meaning of the hunt.
The change that began two decades ago at the turn of the century has run it's course. The freedom that came with Kibaki, and the certainty of stability has been exhausted. We began clamouring for this change during hard and difficult times. People were abducted and detained without court appearances, freedom was limited and our rights as they were- lived malnourished in the shadows of oppression. The post election violence of 2008 showed us the costly prize we would have to pay for tribal politics. We conceived for ourselves a new constitution, and dreamed of more prosperous times. But as we near the edge, as the country tethers too closely to madness. I ask myself whether the hunt was worth it. When at the present, few dreams remain to be true.
We search for the dreams of the dead on the epitaphs of their tombs.
We think of them. We mourn their lose, and in their deaths. We know that each step we take will either lead us towards progress or the dark silence of the grave. Yet still our feet move forward and our voices grow louder.
Hail to the thief. It's too late now.