If I Speak, I May Dissapear

The sun scorches the ground and the wind stirs restless among  trees, 
There are whispers no one speaks aloud. 
This is a land of open skies and heavy silences, 
Where fear lives close to the tongue. 
If I speak, I may disappear.

There was a time when voices rose like a morning tide, 
Songs of freedom swept through the hills, 
Children dreamed of megaphones, 
Their words carried far and wide, 
But now, whispers turn into silence, 
Muted colors fading into gray. 

That’s Kenya for you,
A country of open skies and closed mouths, 
Where history’s murmurs still ring
“Nchi ya Kwanza” sang of land, of sovereignty, 
Yet here we are, 
Gathered beneath fragile roofs, 
Afraid to shake the walls of comfort. 

Freedom of speech ?
A dandelion crushed under heavy boots. 
“Speak up,” they say, 
But the claws of consequence lurk close, 
Each word a risk, each sentence a threat, 
A storm brewing on the horizon, 
Every raindrop a truth 
That floods the streets, 
Only to vanish into silence. 

In the market square, 
Eyes flicker with stories not told, 
Lips press tight as fingers point 
At faces of power,
But silence costs less 
Than the price of speaking truth. 

At dinner tables, 
Ideas clash like spoons in a bowl, 
A family walks the line 
Between safety and outrage. 
One wrong word, 
And the room holds its breath. 

Beneath it all, 
The weight of freedom lies,
Written deep in scars, 
Buried in graves of those who dared. 
And what of the poets, 
The dreamers who once danced with danger? 
Now they tread softly, 
Pens hovering above paper, 
Caught between courage and caution. 

On the shores of Lake Victoria, 
The fishermen watch the waters, 
Their mouths sealed tighter 
Than the nets they cast. 
For even here, 
The law grips tighter than any tide. 

Still, 
Hope refuses to die. 
It grows like grass and fern between cracks in the pavement, 
It rises in laughter, in hands held high. 
It blooms in the smallest corners,
In murals painted on concrete walls, 
In songs hummed beneath breath. 

If I speak, I may disappear. 
But even silence carries a rhythm, 
A beat that cannot be stilled. 
For every voice quieted, 
Ten more rise. 
For every dream crushed, 
A thousand seeds scatter. 

We are the embers, 
We are the sparks, 
And no storm can put us out. 
If I speak, I may disappear. 
But if I stay silent, 
Who will tell our story?

@okelododdychitchats