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It is our time to eat
When they come soliciting for our approval
To build the towers of babel in our land
One would think the reformist have come, at last;
They conceive sing-song ideals of democracy;
But we are wrong, once again, for the umpteenth time;
They only promised utopia in honeyed rhetoric;
As usual, they soon metamorphosed into moles
Of the old school, joining league with the lords of loot.
In their secret coops of conspiracy, they say:
It is time for our tribe to eat because
Tribe pondamali ate in their time,
So did tribe tumbokubwa,
Our tribe simbamlanyama
Have the time in their plate!
But Wanjiku,Wekesa,Jepkogei, Otundo,Olonyamal...
Like ants work and eat from the sweat of their brows!
They aren't participants in the festivals of stolen fat,
Neither is the tribe chasing illusions in the miragy heavens;
Our kindred's conscience are imprisoned in the ignominy of sin
For when they see the honeyed cake on the public pot
They will flatter their desires to live on it
While the labourer chases shadows of his own sweat.
