He wasn’t throwing stones.
He wasn’t shouting slogans.
He stood selling masks ,
For a few coins,
For a day’s bread.

But today,
A bullet answered him instead.

Close range.
To the head.
No warning.
No mercy.
Just silence
Then screams.

He fell ..
Not as a rioter,
Not as a threat,
But as a father, a hustler,
A man trying to live
In a country that kills
Even those who choose peace.

His name might not trend,
His story might fade,
But his blood stains these streets
And our rage will not fade.

He sold masks to protect life ,
And they took his.

So we march,
Not just for bread,
Not just for jobs,
But for the right
To simply exist
Without dying
For standing still.

Ruto must go.
Because Kenya is crying.
And we will not be silent
While our people are dying.