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For a Hundred Years
The imperial geographer scratched borders in broad sheets
with a calm, judicial pen: for a hundred years
the Savage of the Savannah must follow contours
traced by a civilized mind away, away
from the lush pastures of the Laikipia Plateau....
But time stirs that dustheap called history like a pound of dirt- the rebirth of ten decades of deprivation of deprivation
stirs the enterprising capitalist; the orb of the sun
resplendent on the Maasai face illuminates the vast savannah,
and the savannah smiles, opens to the warm embrace of hope.
So they walk in tons, the city, chanting chorusses
their voices, now rejuvenated, reverberate through
the nerves of the worl, rumbles like thunder
across the skies full of vultures.
By the power of these statutes, you treasurers vultures
i demand the pastures of my forefathers, they say
brandishing volumes of statutes and other recorded knowledge
instead of the world-reknown spear and sword.
The vultures, feeling a strong sense of suspicion whisper:
These nomads are fools, this is where we get our food
and we are more civilized than them, of course
the laws must be enacted, chain the in iron chains
in their dilapidated manyattas till they are done!
