Written by: Regina Asinde

Don't talk to me
of glittering mirages of modernization
that soon will disappear to nothingness,
nor of shimmering images of unity
that shatter to sectarianism.

Don't tell me
of floating silken threads of democracy
that disintegrate to ashes at a touch
nor of faraway glimpses of peace
that tantalize and tease my glances.

Brother when speaking,
don't talk of those dreams
that are nothing but dull
throbbing  memories of our minds

Rather speak of;
ailing wailing babies
in medicineless hospitals,
moaning groaning mothers
labouring in dark labour wards.

Speak brother of
shattered battered activists
shot down on streets,
dull-eyed unwaged youths
stampeding streets.

Brother, when speaking
talk not of those things that
shall linger in my heart
but of things that wring 
my heart with anguish!