Poets’ corner: I know not of freedom

I know not of freedom,

But I know of disguised slavery

Branded and packaged cunningly,

As freedom to the hopelessly enthralled,

Helplessly looking on parliamentary thievery,

Of the political class stealing by intricate laws,

Making beguiling statutes to preserve their life-long power,

And extort us through tax for their personal surfeiting,

In alliance with the voraciously rich industrial class,

They have viciously lynched hunger and perpetual want,

As the slave-driving harsh factory drill master

Unto we the toiling wretched of the earth,

For the menial wages a minuscule of our factory-labour,

Having no iota of charm to buy food and pay rent,

As labour leaders hide inside the powerful pockets,

Supporting betrayal by the parliament the people's renegade

Making us, our wives and children serial hustlers and soilers,

The cheap equable manure that fertilize their birth of riches,

As we desperately give birth to hopeless children,

The mere agent of morrow's poverty amid affluence,

I know not of freedom,

Alexander Khamala Opicho

Lodwar, Kenya