Gone, So Gone

by Benson Amollo

Hands create a distance

Not just when they tremble before the shake

For between the shoelaces and his firm hands askance

Then pounding knocks at the door

            Something was wrong

Seventeen spits from a merciless revolver to my count

Gone, so gone was a man I had known

They killed him

A fine man, a nice man, a kind man

            My mother’s man

And as they left taking nothing from him

For nothing to take he had

In a pool of red ooze, lay hands once firm

A back once strong, eyes once steely

            The orphanage would soon set in

In that place of loneliness where needs outstrip means

Where breadwinners are missing

Where sore limbs go unattended

Where the women’s sorority has no celebrity

            The children seek answers

But where was the world…?

How come the loud knocks were silent?

Why did they kill my father whose place no other?

And how many more must they kill?

            Just a matter of time before it can reveal

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 Benson Amollo is an Kenyan journalist and poet.