Jocund Jane Poem by Earnest Gatuma

Who is to blame?
The brokenness embedded,
The broken promises,
The prioritized accolades,
What builds a picture perfect life?
Is it the solving of the jigsaw pieces?
Is it the flickering pyre at the dawn?
A cremation seeking sympathy votes,
The embers that diminish in the dusk,
When the rising of the sun is hot enough,
And our departed we then envy for she is at the vantage,
When it is dreary and overwhelming,
That a royal such as you I will knight no more,
Only then to sigh at the relief,
That all I can hold on to is the times shared,
The kisses and the warm hugs we had.