Gufy Poet

I won’t write
Of dusty African streets
beggars begging for coins in expensive bowls.
I won’t write
of how diseases make us scary
and how wrong prescriptions are sent our way.

I won’t write
of how the government squanders our money
how we get lied to with roads and fly overs.
I won’t write
of the women raped by the road side where I take time to buy roasted maize and how that bench at the base turns into a bed in the night.

I won’t write
of pregnant teenagers who say the priest isn’t the father
And how they called Jesus and God in the middle of their Holy ecstasy.
I won’t write
Of how contraceptives and morning afters have reduced us from being Kings to killers
Of abortions in the capital and how the dead foetuses are carried first class in plastic bags!
I won’t write
Of how John sees James at the expense of Mary
How lovers of the same sex can’t get straight to the point
I won’t write!

I won’t write of tribalism and its powers of division
How we find comfort sucking the breasts of inequality
And how the police shot my Kikuyu friend just for faking a Luo accent.

I won’t write
Of the killings
How bombs rock our capital and we dare
blame Abdalla just because he owns a miraa stand!
I won’t write.
of the killings,the gunshots, the chants for the revolution to spark in the streets!
Occupy this, occupy that
I won’t write
Of how matter occupies space with no force!
Tear gas tears us and I remember the old woman who died clutching her walking stick but still
I won’t write about that!

I won’t write
Of how my father boxed my mother
And how we spent cold nights while his side kick
enjoyed the warmth of my mothers husband!
I won’t write
Of that father who can’t put on blue pants and bed sheets
just to act Superman to his child
And that mother who gossips too much and every time Alicia has to sleep hungry
Of how Alicia’s bedtime stories are movie like sound tracks of her parents fighting!

I won’t write
Of how the rains missed its period
since the trees weren’t told ‘the sky is the limit’
And how our country Kenya got the deadliest dry spell Harry Potter couldn’t chant!
How we make it our task to kill elephants just for their tusks
And to make it worse we rather carry their dead faces on brown notes!
But still of all this tinted actions.

I won’t write
Because I’m tired of being a poet.
Writing piece after piece yet the impact never moves you!
I won’t write
Just to fit in as a writer
Get snaps and claps, ovations and pats
Because I’m tired of being a writer
And at this point of my fatigue this is the only time I can be my own man
I can be of sane mind and chose to do right
Because I realize
I am but a breath
you are but a breath
I am but a breath
you are but a breath
Only then will I write!
Only then will there be no more tint!
Only then will I write again!

Twitter: @gufydox
Facebook: Gufy Dox Poet

{GuFy Dox is a Nakuru born poet. He is a second year Film student at the Kenya Institute of mass Communication. A saved Christian. Has an extreme loving for writing and the color pink. The 43rd Slam Africa King. Runs a poetry movement known as #UpgradePoetry at his home town in Nakuru.}