The place I called home
A memory filled with joy and hope
Where my brothers and I
Often coiled.
Where am I to find this place?
How am I to set my face
If nothing seems to ever bless
The hearts of my people?

The place I called home
Now wretched
Torn down to pieces
Burnt down to ashes
Nothing left for me to look onto.

My brothers have broken necks
They are limping
My people have nothing to eat
Except the stench
That comes from the cold bodies
That lie along the streets.
Gunshots have become music to my people
That brings melancholy
Painful sorrows
And overflowing tears.

The nation has no more to give
But the nose of the gun,
Onto the wananchi
No peace, togetherness distorted.
Security is a fairy tale.
Hunger defines the situation
Death from a bullet,
Seems even much better,
Than that caused by the deficiency.

How long shall I keep looking
For the place I called home?
The place that held memories
Of joy and hope,
Who will hear my voice,
And come to my rescue,
To save the people that I love?
Where will peace and restoration
Of untimely and unlimited happiness
Come from,
If we do not unite
Become one and save a soul?

The child, the message to the future
Never spared
Who will protect the future,
If we all show our backs on the people,
In the place I called home?
My home, not looking
Like my home anymore...