They have another king now.
One brought here on a boat.
For me, they no longer bow
They would defy me for an idea,
One they cannot see,
Cannot feel, cannot hear
Oh, how we’ve fought.
How they mock me with tales of wonder,
Feats and triumphs from days past,
No matter my pomp and grandeur,
They think it fleeting, that it won’t last.
Have I not been fair, not been just?
Or is this a challenge?
A dare to do my worst?
Their respect wanes,
Their disloyalty pains,
Chapters and verses undoing my gains.
The legacy of those before me going down the drain.
Will I be a joke in history’s annals?
“The one who lost his subjects to a phantom?”
A punchline in some students’ journals?
I think not, I must draw the line.
When they speak of a will being done,
That will shall be mine.
I will come out on top,
Though it may not be with them,
I will continue to rise,
They will look up at me, hope in their eyes…
One last time, they will beg me to stop,
Knowing full well their time is done,
Their final hour at hand.
For if in my stead they don’t see a god,
Then I know what I must be,
For if they think me a devil,
Then flames I must bring,
The hell they sought to run from,
They will soon find,
Has caught up with them,
Fire and brimstone, not far behind.
~Mwanga, June 2nd
Deep. Well written!
Thanks, Fay.
Thought provoking! Love it.
Thank you, Cynthia
Webale !
Kale ssebo
I think this is brilliant. Had me rooting for Mwanga!
Thanks man, found myself wondering, what’s his side of the story?
Love the piece
Thank you
A gifted writer .
Thank you, Tura