My Harambee Poem by Charles Wamuti

Behind I sat amongst acquaintances, gloomed,
Watching waiting as my turn approached,
And donate an amount for the fundraising,
By the people for the person, a together coming.

Next was a being and another,
Of his days under Sun, soft spoken whispers delt,
How he had been sick like a dog at the hospital,
Bedridden for so long, lost his job,
His either side sad sore-nurse battles waged,
Indefatigable despite debts heavens high and increasing,
And the landlord; out his mattress, long had thrown away.

From far foreign lands, siblings came
To attend the funeral in days near,
As glory an expensive house of the dead mine awaited,
Of mahogany wood, velvet and gold handles, they had it crafted.

In this open fundraising no one dares not contribute,
And one may not but be warned they are of their fate,
That in due time it will be their turn,
So since tit-tat is a fair game,
Despite the overly a lot of already contributed money,
Better give this investment from heart deep,
It was a person even well known to me.

Heart tight as a drum, overrun by emotions i became,
Looked and my mother - like a smothered candle sad she was,
Turned to the door but took a last look back,
At all the people in the harambee,
I was sorry for the inconveniences i had caused them,
So I walked to the now neatly dug grave,
Where my hairy flesh, liquids, bones would be rested,
And I hoped i had lived for the living.