On a sunny Saturday I came across a Wake
at the Louis Leakey where I beg spake
of the Kuomintang of Kwamchetsi, and marvelous Mshai
of Rasna Warah who was not shy, nor ever shied way
from social justice causes; speaking of the sorry State 
(of this world); in words that were themselves worlds that whorl
around us Rasna’s words like whirlwind, whirling dervishes
of words that spoke Truth to power and our wheeler-dealer
devils – whether of the expatriate types or our tin-pot tripe.

Words like winds that wound themselves round black & white
pages and went out in Brown Stripes; words that spoke of the
wounds within of those whose worlds come without words –
Words that wound themselves down around this town 
because, Warah had Unsilenced these words.

and what are we, what are we, what are we to say on this Sat a
Day sunset where Rasna rests except for those immortal words
(in paraphrase)? “Kasongo, yeeyee, mbona umechuluwa Rasna
kwa Ngai?” Death is a liar, and the Devil is in the details of deceit
– Here Rasna does not lie, “songa mbali na ufala, yey yay, ayeee!”

She wrote, too, about culture and of rage
She was a child of the Triple Heritage
She was wordsmith, accuser, curser and sage.

She wrote of Warlords, Warah was on intellectual overload
She wrote of UN-a-holes, who are obnoxious Overlords
She wrote of War Crimes, and of our contemporary times
She spoke of Red Soil and of stolen roasted maize.

And at the end of days, when she was in her own

                           “Mogadishu”

Rasna wrote of the cancer that was slowly killing her.

Walai! Our Warah was a real ‘Worria’
And may Allah, or Krishna, or Whoever
preserve our precious word Warrior.
(She who will forever be, part of our journalistic history)

“Kasongo, wewe, mbona ulimchukuwa mbali kwa Ngai?
Kasongo, nawe oh, songa mbali na uongo zaka yo!
Death is a liar and Rasna’s still on fire, ‘yeah yea yeee!’