Death Bed Poetry: Raila Odinga
Death Bed Poetry: Raila Odinga
“I don't regret my life.”
— Raila Odinga, in his final interview
I stand at the edge of Bondo,
where the soil remembers the footsteps
of a son who never stopped walking.
Not for power, not for fame,
but for a dream stitched in the fabric
of a fractured nation.
Five times he ran,
five times he rose,
each defeat a seed for the next harvest
of hope, of unity, of change.
They called him Baba,
a father to the voiceless,
a voice for the silenced.
In the halls of the powerful,
he stood as a bridge,
not a wall.
In the streets of the forgotten,
he danced to the rhythm
of their struggles,
their songs,
their tears.
And when the end came,
it found him not in surrender,
but in stride—
five laps around the world
before collapsing into eternity.
"I don't regret my life," he said,
and in those words,
he left a legacy
not of victories counted,
but of lives touched,
of futures altered.
Now, as the earth embraces him,
we remember not the man who sought the throne,
but the one who built it
for those who never had a seat.
Rest now, Baba.
Your journey was not in vain.
Your story is not over.
In every vote cast,
in every voice raised,
you live on.
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