What if the norm and routine of the sun changes today?

Such that the setting is to the East

And the rising is from the West?

Shall we call it a normal day?

Or we will say God has come to wipe sinners away?

Life, its misfortunes and ignominious situations

Has led me not trust anything, I have become unfaithful and hopeless

But shall I live dead breathing forever?

What if I offered the solution to the problems?

So that when I die, I be forgotten not, but rather leave a memory

What if all of us were world changers and messengers of love and hope?

Shall I be writing about these imbalances and pains of life?

What if women were able to be read on their faces?

I could have read what my mother meant

When every night she could take her handkerchief and clean tears in her eyes

Then say, “Junior, in tears lies happiness, I am happy”

Why not a smile? What did she mean by saying this?

What if she didn’t shed that for six consecutive years,

Could she have been with me here today?

What if I too begin crying today through my pen,

Am I going to follow her down ,six feet under and listen to her?

Mama, I miss you

What if policemen could have stopped the mob justice in cells

Could my father be here today with me?

Watching his son taking the mic, and let the tongue talk to them?

What if the Nation had said that only courts have got justice 

And that cells are offices of detention?

I guess then they couldn’t have broken his ribcage

A termination of life!

What if they knew I needed a father figure in my life

Like an eagle soaring high to the skies

I am a rising star, but then my light can’t be felt in the world

What if all poets, playwrights and activists stood with me?

We could have fought as a family, justice for all

What if they knew that both death and life are gifts

That comes once in a lifetime, at a particular moment

Die, meet with the creator, heaven and hell a reward

Live today, longer as you please, face troubles in life

They would have chosen one; to live a single day like a lion

Rather than live a thousand years as a sheep

What if I die today?

What shall be written in the obituary?

What if I tell them never to mourn me 

For it will be end of a struggle?

Will they hear me?

What if they knew I cried immediately after birth, a man of catastrophes I was born

Would they say, “he has rested?’

© *Hector De Poet*

*Roberto De Khalifa (fb)*



The boy and girl quietly met

In dark corners like mice

They became lovers

Through their pleasures of orgasms

The lady was pregnant

Whoever before birth

A foetus was killed

Who would have spoken for that soul

It was vulnerable

Like a helpless orphan

It had no option

Thus through abortion

A dream was killed

This could have been the world changer

In the foetus , God saw a president

By killing the foetus,

A philosopher died.

There were those alive

One of them was to be a Universal poet

At an early age

He was imprisoned

Reason being what?

His poems were patriotic

To “THEM”,the poems were inciting

By instilling in him fear

A dream was killed

Then came these slow learner student

He didn’t know the Mighty ability of the pen

But for sure he knew the ability of his left leg

He dreamt of playing for Arsenal

But because they wanted a grade on paper

The student dropped out of school

Only to be an urchin

Thus a dream was killed

Then there came this blind girl

She could write but never saw her works

They who were her eyes

Sold her novels to publishers

Only to tell her they were rejected

By the same publisher

Through theft and trickery

She never became an author thus,

A dream was killed.

Who are these dream killers?

I want to know you

Can’t you let the foetus be born

Why burry future presidents , entrepreneurs

Bishops and pastors

In a two n half feet toilet??

I wanna know

Why stop that young footballer

From living his dream

Why plagiarize my work

I wanna know now

Who is this dream killer?

© Roberto De Khalifa (fb)

Hector De Poet



Gunshots, unrest and wailing souls

Bitter and scattered cries from innocent citizens

Helpless and speechless dead bodies all lay

Two men, different tribes, fighting for power

I am abashed from my dreams, family and ambitions

I speak death; SPEAK IT, MY PEN SPEAK

I live in the desert, this is where I got my dessert

No dad, no food, no mate

In this place, I lost a mother, I lost love

Snakes and thorn trees are my neighbours

But am I not a citizen of Mangala country?

I Speak of Solitude and suffering


My leg will be amputated today

But I will be in this hospital to stay

The bill is too high, my ability too low

“Cancer patients will receive free medication.”

But it ain’t so, it was a lie

I am speaking of poverty and treachery


In writing, I was speaking

I have become a son of chains, canes and slaps

Every day in handcuffs, that I do condemn govenments

When will authors, playwrights and poets live freely?

I am ready to sleep, never to wake

For poetic licence

I SPEAK OF OPPRESSION, for the caged birds


© Robert Onteri aka Hector De Poet

Facebook: Roberto De Khalifa


Take me to church today

For I wish to see how hypocrites pray

The first is my uncle, a village witch

Yet on sabbath day, I do hear him say,

“We are the sheep of God, He is the greateast seer”

Yet in him, he has the devil’s powers

Take me to church today please

Take me to church today

I want to see that lady who denied a foetus life

I want to see how she prays while she broke the law

I want to see how she talks to God

So that I imitate her, I am a sinner too

Take me to church today please

Take me to church today

I want to see that pastor with a jet

Yet his congregation comes to church barefoot

He who preaches about faithfulness in marriage

Yet commits adultery with church deaconesses

Take me to church today please

Take me to church today

A holy place where humbleness is expected

Yet people gossip others on their dress codes

“Look, she is in her usual sabbath dress”

Take me to church today please

Lastly, take me to church today

I have a secret to share with God

© Robert Onteri aka Hector De Poet

Fb@roberto de khalifa



Born in a desert, so dry

Lord, my crops never flowered but rather withered

I spend sleepless nights without food nor water

And it is as if my day has come;I am dying

For heaven can’t be bought, Father freely take me in.

I did vote this regime for change

And for sure I can see the change for sure

Instead of giving us relief food, they stole it

Instead of giving us water, they use it in their greenhouses

Instead of roads, they talk to us while on air

Lord, as I rest today

Please, respond to the needs of my people

I didn’t call death

This driver has decided his car must swallow me

It has siphoned my blood, I am carrying the weight of my


Lord, when I sleep, never to hear them cry

Lord, when they will be crying over me

But I can’t console them

When my mum will call me by name, Hector, Hector”

But I can’t say, “yes mother”

Do assure them we will meet

For in the Bible, they talk about His coming

Lastly, my good Lord

After my death, this piece will be read out to an audience

Console those hearts that will be broken

Wipe pain from them , give them strength

Register me in your Holy book

Let me sit by Moses, Abraham and Isaac

“Wazee wa imani,” they say

And this is my prayer

© Robert Onteri aka Hector De Poet



On that fateful day, the day of tears and fears

Hopelessness, helplessness and loneliness

Grandpa, you left us, sitted beside you

In that treasured bamboo bed

What a sad memory! What a pain it was

As you slept, we sang your favorite song

Nearer My God To Thee, It was a trial and tribulation

“Nearer to thee, I come,” you always sung it

I mean that song

“For how long shall we be slaves of our choices?

We can change the regime!” That was your word

We sang after you,”It is enough.We are free”

We trusted you, outdid the oppressive regime

Little did we know that Israel has been divided, change of


The army is the same,Judea and Judah

You are ruling with a whip and gun! We have no option

We are singing the song of death, song of deceit,song of land


This bitter sweet song, we love the song!

Just like flowers smile to the sun

Glittering like gold to the viewer

Your beauty caught my eyes, I fell for you

Parties in tony hotels, kisses and smiles whenever eyes I met

Who knew a devil lived in an Angel’s veil?

You were an honest liar, hiding the black, revealing the white!

My trip to China, a meeting with your white man from South


I am singing the song of hypocrisy, pain and betrayal

As a poet, I can’t speak through my words

I am in chains, a prisoner of my talent and hobby

I write to educate, they say it is incitement

So physically, I am happy,concealing the tears

Emotionally dead, spiritually blank

Because in cells, they say He can’t set me free

For my faith can’t be equal to that of Paul and Silas

So I am singing that song of Oppression

That song of fear, that song of a prisoner

© *Hector De Poet*

Fb @ Roberto De Khalifa



He was born tall, energetic and muscular

His love and ambition unique,

The gun!

To carry and guard his country he vowed,

Yet he died,

Not from the shots of the gun,

But the rage of a friend,

Another’s gun!

Who will speak for the sleeping souls?

A student so bright,

Dreams so high,

Toiled day and night to get an actual flight,

He never lived to enjoy the dream,

Burnt by another; the one he called brother, friend, comrade,

Who will speak for the sleeping souls?

She was pretty,

From her walk to her talk,

The beauty oozing, irresistible!

Young soldier couldn’t resist her charm,

He couldn’t resist the urge to see her in the arms of another


Because of only a hug to another man

The soldier shot her

Such a beauty, that lays six feet under,

Who will speak for the sleeping souls?


Always full of life and laughter,

Yet this was deserted and haunted.

Spirits of the helpless children,

Young blood dripping from their hands,

The sacrifice to appease their gods,

Terrorists kidnapped them as a revenge

Drunk from a well so young,

Who will speak for the sleeping souls?

They stood patiently,

Waited patiently,

They knew they made the leader,

He was such ripe a candidate.

Like a two headed snake,

He spat venom in all directions

Venom of all manner,

Tribalism, nepotism, corruption, hooliganism!

Who will speak for the sleeping souls?

My father,

The man with the white collar, Bible in hand!

Noble upright man,

Now he lay, with a bullet between his eyes.

All he said was ‘NO’

Who will speak for the sleeping souls?

©Roberto De khalifa(Facebook)