A poem to the 147 unknowns
By F.Simiyu Barasa
147 is just a number, We shall not Mourn you.

147 is just a number,of which you are one
So We shall not mourn you.
You were not an expatriate
Connecting herself to France
By buying Camembert cheese off some shelves in an upmarket mall.

147 is just a number, of which you are one
So we we shall not mourn you.
How to mourn a non-white, on international TV channels.
Human interest angle is measured in colors these days.

147 is just a number, of which you are one.
So we shall not Mourn you.
No road in Mombasa shall be named after you
Your father is not somebody’s political party boss.
No rival to donate an airforce plane to your stadium coffin display
Who knows if the casket you will be buried in will be so cheap it can
Scratch the insides of our military planes.

Why should we mourn you?
No flags can fly at half mast
To honour a half -baked education that you sought in an ill equipped college.
If you had been schoolmates with our politicians sons in some foreign lands,whose neighbouring country was hit by a catastrophe,
We would have found ways to mourn you since we too marvel and wish
We could loot this country to pay such fees.

We do not know how to bend and lay flowers for people who never ate croissants
At artistic coffee shops in malls, for if we place roses in dusty mpeketoni roads
Or sandy Garissa paths…or cabbage littered Githurai tarmac
It doesn’t look photogenic. You never afforded roses when alive
We should not afford you carnations and ribbons in death.

We can not mourn you. We reserve the energy for those who eat in same restaurants as whites,who shop same as a royal family's cousins cousin.
For we can also look cool by association. Their death can leave us whiffs of their lives: be escalator users, to watch nice cinemas,
To take our kids to IGCSE schools, to be accented.
We do not mourn smoke sweating , sun scorched, dust coated, others. It reminds us of our poverty.
We mourn class. Richness. Not calloused hands rougher than the stones they quarry.

Life has been too harsh to you, why should we coin a harsh tag and add your pain?
We are Not one with you. No. No Mpesa donation lines. Just die, sleep, get buried by your clan.
No foreign presidents will come to walk Uhuru Highway with ours, since ours never walk for the dead.
No HBO specials, no magazines drawing cartoons in your solidarity. Die, and get buried silently.
Your own TV channels never gave the hours between your siege and your death any running commentary. (like they covered Paris siege)
They entertained us with Mexican soaps, old Naija films, and the occasional Breaking news banner
To remind us that the blade of death was still on your throats.
We are not sentimental like the French, we don’t CharlieHebdo Je Suis blab la
No military parades, no drills in public squares. Not for you.
147 is just a number, you are just one other statistic.
Not human.
We shall pretend you didn’t really exist
We shall move on.
We shall not Mourn you.
Who told you to choose your low class birth.