Former Inooro TV anchor Ken Wakuraya has stirred national emotion after publishing a powerful and deeply moving poem titled “The Boots That Crushed Ojwang”, in memory of a young boy allegedly killed by police brutality.
The poetic piece, which has since gone viral on social media, is both a lament and a call to justice, dedicated to a teenager named Ojwang, whose life was reportedly cut short in a brutal police encounter.
“They called it procedure, they called it grilling… But the father calls it murder,” Wakuraya writes, portraying a father’s pain in the face of state violence. “He was just a boy, his father’s tomorrow, carrying laughter like a lantern.”
Ojwang’s death has become symbolic of growing public outcry over alleged extrajudicial killings and police excesses in Kenya.
The poem paints a vivid picture of a defenceless young man, “a son of dawn,” whose hopes and kindness were trampled “under leather and rage.”
Wakuraya, known for his articulate on-screen presence, takes on a new role in the poem — not as a journalist, but as a father, a witness, and a conscience for a grieving nation. He closes the piece with a stark declaration:
“If they come for me, tell them I wrote as a poet… and as a father, crying with a father.”
Activists and human rights defenders have praised the poem as both art and activism, urging authorities to investigate Ojwang’s case thoroughly.
The Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI) has yet to issue a formal statement on the allegations surrounding Ojwang’s death. However, civil society organizations say the case reflects a broader pattern of violence that disproportionately targets poor, young men in informal settlements.
As the country grapples with these revelations, Wakuraya’s words continue to resonate — not just as poetry, but as a searing indictment and a plea:
“This is a piece of poetry, but let it be a requiem… Not a song of sorrow, but a scream for justice.”
Here the poem
THE BOOTS THAT CRUSHED OJWANG
Dear Monday In memory of a life stolen too soon
In an old man’s hut they struck not with words,
But with thunder in their stride
Boots pounding on innocence,
As if justice could be broken
Under leather and rage.
Ojwang, a son of dawn,all that was known
His eyes wide with unspent dreams,
A heart still soft with songs
He never got to sing aloud—
Now lies silent in a mortuary cold stone.
He was just a boy, his father’s tomorrow
Carrying laughter like a lantern,
Spilling kindness in alleys
Where even hope feared to linger.
But they saw a threat
Hands of a poor boy raised—not in defiance
But pleading, trembling,
Not even the sky could shield him
From the boots that spoke louder
Than any badge ever could.
Crack. Crack
The sound of power unhinged.
The law turned feral,
As his name was smeared
In the dust he kissed
While crying for mercy.
They called it procedure they called it grilling
They…. called…. it order.
But the father call it murder.
And karura tress that watched
In the darkness, from silence—
call it shame.
Ojwang is gone.
But the earth remembers.
The blood remembers.
The cry still echoes
In every empty street,
Where his laughter should have walked.
This is a piece of poetry
but let it be requiem
For the boots that crushed Ojwang—
Not a song of sorrow,
But a scream for justice,
A fire in the name of all
Who were told they had no right to breathe.
If they come for me tell them
I wrote as a poet and as
As a father,Crying with a father
In memory of a life stolen…..too…. soon!
Yours heartbroken
ken wakuraya
PO box 75 Ndaragwa
