Ess Waceke (21STARS)
Echoes of Midnight
It’s 3 a.m., the banging on our doors resounds,
Echoing through the night, stirring the children’s cries.
Parents, vigilant, prepare to defend with makeshift arms,
“Mom, mlango yetu ndio next,” I whisper, heart pounding,
“Mungu atatulinda,” she reassures, gripping my hand,
Her voice, in quiet prayer, seeking divine protection.
This has been our nightly routine for years,
Anxiety’s shadow grows as action eludes us.
At 3:35 a.m., the doors succumb to force,
Their tactics evolving, each more sinister than the last.
They’ve cloaked us in scents that dull our senses,
Leaving us in a slumber as they seize what they will.
Quiet as spectres, they dismantle our windows,
Reaching through the night for our illusory treasures.
We report and we plead, but our cries fall silent,
Justice remains a stranger to our desolate plight.
We slumber with fear as our unwelcome companion,
Each takes turns to guard our fragile haven.
Our wealth is meagre, only our lives hold value,
Yet, we stand resolute, bound by shared struggle.
In the darkness, we find strength in unity,
A silent promise that dawn will bring hope anew.
Our hands clasped, we await the breaking light,
Praying for a future where safety is our birth right.
