A Poem From A Ghetto Dream………By El Poet.


She held her plate and said,

I want more,

more love so,

I heal this wounds that have become sore,

She rested her palms together and said,

I implore,

You to keep me indoors,

For the streets outside are not like before,

You find bhang instead of bread in stores,

Young boys in saggy jeans, shiny rims, massive timbs,

and big white t-shirts to hide sharp blades, and hard drugs,

On the other side rests jobless boys sniffing gums as steam,

with pennyless dreams,

Planning merciless schemes,

So as to feed their kids,


Young girls from college,


Ready to give head to be ahead of the interview queue,

Inner feuds, few,

Political feuds,

If you asked me to spell leadership mediocracy i would spell L.E.A.r…..No,

i would abbreviate them to ODM,PNU….

Shame on you, for your fraudulent schemes, and promising political rallies,

Yet you still leave only dust behind for your masses like safari rallies!!

We wake up early,

to work harder and make money faster than the escalating food prices,

How do you care when your making millions while a loaf of bread is growing to be of higher monetary value than the street child sniffing gum to numb the drought struck worn out,

ulcer infected lining of his stomach,

filled with saliva because that is the only thing he has been taking for the last three weeks!!


The mother said come, my child,

She said i cannot go outside mum, its wild,

The streets are filled with rape,thuggery and drug dealing,

Of insecurity, blood and cold killing,

Id rather kneel down, look up and pray to this ceiling,

To open up so that God sees the pain that im feeling,

Because i cant forget when they tied my hands, opened my thighs and tore me apart,



Listen God can see through this ceiling,Myth,

He knows the pain that your dealing,


Pray to him, and he will make all hope lateral,but,

Trade in your fears as collateral,

Live your life as if it was heaven,

So that you die another day like double O seven!


I am a Young Somali Boy Birthed by Kenyan Soil,


I speak for the voices forgotten,

Hence my voice is outspoken for you who is silent is a better poet!!

I speak for the millions of people locked up in demonic rhythms,

Satanic shackles hugging them,

kissing them,

giving them a torturous love,

freeing them with blazing wings of a monstrous dove,


I speak for the soldiers dead in palestine,

wrapping defused bombs with plastercene,

plaster seen in torn legs of children shot by izraeli soldiers trying to cast a scene,

after scenes of the world, mastered sins when physicists squeeze out explosives instead of oil from caster seeds,

when you must agree to your masters greed,

even when your told to shoot an innocent three year old!!!

A classic tell of a soldier following orders??


Didnt you know that we are all soldiers!????

Even that boy dying with hunger in the arid areas of turkana is a soldier,

Infact he has been a better soldier all his life fighting a holocaust,

Of pain and hunger,

of extremely hot days and freezing nights of eating grass and salty pebbles,

of fighting land grabs and raiding rebels,

of handling levels and verges of temporary insanity,

he has been fighting a war where majority of what you call the human race where everyone wanting to be 1st not caring who you stepped on to get there!!


I DARE you to speak with me,

to work hard to end destruction and corruption,

to chant spiritual african songs and embrace our ethnicity,

and not to emulate others!!!

To stop and listen,

to the pharaohs ghost screams, yelling God is out there, for you, for me, for all of us!!!

He is the spaces between this poem from a ghetto dream!!


Author: Gloria Mwaniga Minage

Phenomenal woman. that's me

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