in hard times especially
those of us who can afford it
should be generous

unless we want to have
tanks in our streets again soon

There she sat, in the faint yellow light,
in nothing but white lingerie,
a box of cigarettes to keep her company.

There she sits, soaked in smoke, viscous grey,
something to please her schizophrenic perception,
something to unburden her, remind her of her God-given free will,
a term rather easily scribbled on papers.

It was not materialism she sought,
she aspired for something far greater,
she wanted a sense of freedom,
to know what it’s like to be unchained;
even if it lasted mere ticks.

Deep breath, she no longer sits on her bed,
for the first time in her life, she was… free.
Two passers-by glimpsed overhead,
sighingly mumbled, “don’ya ever wish to flee?”

Isn't home a place you run to when the world betrays you
isn't home the peace you seek when your heart's at war
isn't home the sanctuary that hides you from the hurricane
isn't home the road you take when there's nowhere left to go
where you finally sit to dust your tired feet
wash off the sticky perspiration and get some relief
isn't home a church, mosque or temple where
you run to when you need to refill the gas of your faith?
Isn't home the light in the darkness, the answer to questions
isn't home the pillar of freedom which when crumbled wrecks our life?
isn't home the beautiful moments curved in stone of memories
like sculptures for a tired mind to remind itself years later
Don't they say east or west, north or south there's nothing better
than the comfort that awaits in the passionate family embrace at home?
Isn't home the pat you need on your shoulder to be strong?
But what happens when the pillars crumbled
when there are no warm arms left for you to return to
no beautiful smiles to welcome you after a long tiring day
of doing nothing, for there is no resting from doing nothing?
what happens when home is a battlefield to be
when Jet fighters buzz like flies and military roam like cockroaches
in an abandoned latrine with piles of **** that gave up its smell
what happens when home is a playground for ugly politics
  that reeks like poorly preserved rotting Nile perch
or Mukene, what happens when home is lost to shameless aliens
when all who live are too afraid to appreciate your milestones
what happens when the landmarks that guided your way home
are all eroded by the flashfloods of deception
and the moments that mattered are buried by the landslides
of looming political turmoil and the wails of those crippled by the regime?
when the earthquakes of greed have buried family under the rubble
when those who can come to the rescue are ruffed up like insurgents?
what happens when the centrepiece that once held home together is shaky
when things are surely bound to fall so far apart?
shall we all run and leave behind the huts we've built
and if we do so shall we ever live a life free of the burden of guilt?
shall we say  goodbye to all this beauty and turn tail
like little rodents frightened of the storms and hail
or shall we stay and defend our home like our forefathers did
like the lions defend their Den with anger and greed
and bleed rivers of blood because our land isn't for sale...
shall we? Shall we fend off these outlanders back to the bush
back to dictating over the cattle or are we still content and
enduring the inhuman lashes leaving bruises on our tattered history
are we going to demand for the reforms we're entitled to
or shall we keep living like the paupers we have been reduced to?
where shall we go when the leopard starts making for us
after the ravenous old beast has eaten all our livestock?
There's no more home in this place, the savages have their machetes
right at our necks,
simply because we're all so afraid of bleeding
forgetting some of our ancestors bled for the home we've lost
and that if we're all afraid of blood, none will be a butcher
if none is a butcher none will eat meat like they say...
who will fight for our home, who will dare face this beast?
Where will we turn to if we can't find warmth home?
Who will welcome us when we have nothing to go home to?
Who will listen to our cowardly story if we never try
who will understand after the pearl's cracked and lost her value
Who will even be kind enough to hear our cry?
Where will we go when our home is too ruined to recover?

I'm so lucky to be from the pearl of Africa
where democracy is just but a name
where independence was given but with chains
where a thousand busk in the millions' pains
I'm so lucky to be from a country where reigns total freedom of speech
as long as you're not a member of the opposition
a country where freedom of speech only lasts until the speech is made
if only you could ask the hundreds incarcerated,most are dead
for what? for not not realising the freedom doesn't count after speech
I'm lucky to be from a country that gives no **** about human rights
especially these meaningless developments
like right to internet, what a sweet place to live
no Whatsapp, no Facebook nor twitter and why?
Tomorrow is the swearing in of our new old President...
not that age is important, after all it's just a number
tomorrow we usher in a very comprehensive government
one which has managed to stretch its tentacles across three decades
tomorrow we will see fat bellied millionaires
on screens of those who can afford televisions
congratulate our president who's filled with enthusiasm
to rule a poor mass who voted for their corruption free bellies
and thus social media could be used to bomb our young innocent leader
black mambas beautify our streets while jet fighters ornamentally
buzz across the blue skies, as if Osama has resurrected in Kampala
to the visitors, we are not at war...those are salutes to our most cherished one
the visionary, the most trusted, the compassionate
the one who wouldn't hurt a fly or swat a mosquito
we can't take any chances, just tune your channels tomorrow
for first hand glimpse of the merry and youthful dances
social media is a destruction yet our president deserves all ears
in the sky, on the streets from the hopeless unemployed
tomorrow we speak not of change but change without change
tomorrow we usher in steady progress for another five years
tomorrow we start to smile and wipe the tears
for tomorrow we acknowledge the old man is here to stay
I hear even the Zimbabwean tortoise is in the country
ready to congratulate his associate...these boys fought for their countries
they freed us from crucibles into their heavenly hades...
we should appreciate they have sacrificed too much...
tomorrow is public holiday, forward to conservative past we match
back from the beautiful future we don't deserve
tomorrow like helpless dogs we bow to our master's collar
tomorrow we bury our hopes for change and feed on this yellow muck
the swamp of greed, we can't risk defiance, we're stuck
we're like the long horned cattle of the west
for tomorrow the fat ticks start to **** and ****
but I wonder, for how long, for how long will we just talk?
when will we do more than just silently sob?
I bleed for my country or a country I once thought was mine
I bleed the taxes, the ruthless beatings, the tear gas
I bleed like a slave being whipped by these fatigued caravans
I bleed despair and melancholy and wander
like a headless chicken,for how long though? I wonder!
I bleed for God and my Country
for Uganda, I bleed...