On a Saturday morning,

Dawn heralded horsemen

From the east.

Wise and sharp as words they pronounced. Running dancing

Chariots they wobbled town chiefs, To tangle the town sheri

Who in a hu

Never could see

The hand wielding

The door shackles,

Before horsemen were seen.

Thunder and rumbling

Hooves of Uhuru could not be silenced Billy the Kid was in town.

Truly, they never travelled heavy, Only a slate and a pen.

And they never travelled alone, Only more at a time.

They were known

To ruin many a frowning emperor With scorching words. Scorch ever so sketchier

To silence wino regimes.

Too inebriated to know, Words carry the truth,

The truth carries freedom! Raising all dust in snow. Creating ice storms of hell To Emperors denying the truth Even the dead are roused

To sing a protest.

Where clouds are converging In protest.

Had they known hail stones brewing in minds of the populace,

They would have taken heed of the meek sun lumbered across the charred milky way.

Mmm! Still images so vivid

They chose to be blind.

In darkness of hearts,

Frightened stars shuttled away

From their damned dark motives,

As dust rose to dance and prance,

There was a stance never envisaged!

Giggles of imagination laying images

Of skies rumbling in protest

Like the belly of a bull that has swallowed

A grenade or anger becoming

A beautiful kitten caught in a rainbow.

Vividly I too had seen

Bows raining terror before.

A web with no penetrable sieves,

It is but a death trap with guillotines as lines of symmetry.

So shall vice be slayed Like a pony that digs its hoofs In the green turf,

Never for once minding What it leaves behind