It's after they've drained
the people's blood that
the lion heads, rhinoceros
trunks and hyena hinds -
the sphinxes we call beasts
of Nalunga - prowl about
the land marauding like
rabid monsters, maiming.
And no guns, not even
game rangers' guns; no
voices, not even ancestral
voices, no police bullets,
no army bombs, no Young
Pioneers machete or Young
Democrat phangas, nothing
but nothing beats beasts
of Nalunga; stab, hack or
shoot them, no blood will
splatter nor is their DNA
detectable; whatever you
take them, however you
see them, the brutes will
not shy away, for beasts
of Nalunga are cyclic sagas
of people besotted by wars,
battles, tyrants, plagues.