Thick Blood In The City | Andrew Bugembe

Heavy thick lumps of blood on the streets of Kampala,
Loud noise and cries from all the corners
from old and young moppets,
Bullet sounds, and teargas fume pollutions,
Babies weeping for their slaughtered mothers,
Smiles on the faces of the killers,
For to them killing is a game,
Robbers looting of peoples property,
Pale skinned young boys dressed in red shirts and ballets,
Screaming "people power our power"
Burning tire and throwing stones to the oppressors,
Who should we report to?
Because also the African gods have not intervened,
Who should we look at ,
Because they are our fellow brothers taking our lives,
Our country is now a slaughtering stage,
Of human flesh,
Burial ceremonies have now turned into parties,
For when the sun comes out we lose our beloved ones,
The African Gods and the black man ancestors,
Please intervene, before the perishing of the black man,
But we are all fed up of the smells of human blood in our city,

Poet's note: in a coutry driven by dictatorship were democracy is a myth,and leaders dont want to give out their powers to others, for thirty five years his been the president but their comes out a young boy with great ideas to lead uganda. instead of accepting defeat the leader resorts to atrocities scaring the the young people to take the power. i feel so downtroden and i feel so sad i feel abnormal right now for we lost men and women of integrity