GEORGE THE TIRED POET

📸 UBOS  I imagined me, Sitting, watching a household finish their lunch, Wash their hands,  Wipe their Mouths.  Then me, Salivating, swallowing.  Sticking my eyes on their throats, How they Galloped food down the oesophagus.  I then imagined me, Being a Patriotic Enumerator. Counting because I love my country. Because I love my Dear District,  Because I love my County, Because I love my Sub county,  Because I love my Parish, Because I love my Village,  Because I love my father's family.  I then imagined me writing a Poem today, For all suffering Enumeration officers. Then I wrote this . © Ochago George William.  @George The Tired Poet. 2024. #PoeticSundays.

📸Getty images. Just like a Pregnant Gecko I sat, sniffing the odour of ink, Not realising, my palm is actually pink. From a distance,  I felt the smell of a wet metal  Owning my nostrils like I am part of the betrayal.  Poem 604, I wrote my lines- bit-by-bit, My nose didn't settle for a bit. I saw a beautiful girl-sitted a distance away, Her eyes filled with shame,  Her heart scared of shame. She had the odour of a wet metal,  Blood had run beyond her underwear. She had nothing to 'wear'. Poem 604 Was my first love poem, But I got me crying.  What about my money? What if I wrote philanthropy? What if I wrote about loving? Poem 604, I wrote my lines with grief Because my nose didn't settle.  When will my sisters get what to wear? What if they left school because of blunder? What if they get lured by my cycling brother? What if one day, they decide to end their lives? ©  George William Ochago.  George The Tired Poet.  -2023.

Painting by Gregory Radionov. January 26th? I have no time to be Sarcastic, My grandma always wanted me to be realistic. What have we achieved? From the 27 guns To the mustard seed. What has that earned us? A part from telling stories of self-fame. You, trained your guns well, Now they don't care, They can kill anyone else- Both women and children. January 26th Gave birth to a rotten regime, From Kampala to Masaka My Boys are crying because their parents are dying. The legend of the 27 guns Is not doing what the manifesto was. The poor are kept like baits of the new elections Because they are scared of the guns. Women are kept under corks, Because their children will perish so young And yet the lie is working.  Bona Bawagagale, Prosperity for All, Securing your Future, Shit like that is fed to the poor ignorant. And yet nothing is in place. What was it exactly that you did that day? I mean January 26th. Was there a dream to make Uganda any better? The Uganda railway, Uganda Airline...

Image Credit: Daily Monitor. Who is the criminal I mean no one knows. The one in Uniform thinks he is right. Yesterday, i saw a boy die, He was choked to death, The men in Uniform didn't care. They were serving their master. They threw canisters of tear gas to everyone Who were not their  'Criminals' by any chance. Yesterday, i saw a boy choked to death, His mother bleating helplessly. No one cared Everybody was running for their lives. Does it mean everyone around the 'crime' scene is a criminal? I know it doesn't matter to you Boys dying before their mothers-hungry. Who is the Criminal? Is it those trying to make life equal for everyone? Or you trying to protect your job In the name of securing our future. Yesterday, i saw a boy dying, He died hungry- choked by tear gas. May be he was trying to swallow their gas. Who is the Criminal? Who will pay for his life ? I mean, does the law consider the poor hungry street dwellers? Because yesterday i saw a...