An exerpt from Kofi Awoonor’s poem – This Earth, My Brother
Within the airwaves we carry
Our hutted entrails; and we pray
Shrieks abandoned by lonely road-sides
as the gunmen’s boots tramp.
I lift up the chalice of hyssop and tears
to touch the lips of the thirsty
sky-wailing in a million spires
of hate and death; we pray
bearing the single hope to shine
burnishing in the destiny of my race
that glinting sword of salvation
Read the rest here
The ongoing chaos crippling Nairobi and captivating the world is a tragic affair that has presented a roster of victims, each with a litany of accomplishments and badges of selfless service that spans the global realm.
‘Tis the season to raise funds–which means you’re probably getting hit up from every direction as organizations work to finish Q4 with a bang, and panhandlers break out their saddest stories, even as you contemplate your own holiday commitments. We get it.