Am I not a Kenyan like you? (cry of the IDP)

Drip drop,
The rain falls on my abode,
Letting drops into my sleeping place,
On the ground.
It’s not a house this place where I live,
It’s a tent, torn and tattered.

Four years after getting this tent I am forgotten,
Just a statistic,
Coming up in the news,
Showing how many were displaced in the violence.
The politicians I hear,
Are campaigning again,
Saying that they have billions to spend on campaigns.
Why won’t they spend some of it on me?
Give me somewhere to stay,
Return to me my dignity,
Which I lost in the 2007/2008 political violence.
I don’t live here by choice, but by circumstance.
Politicians and government make promises,
But am still here,
While they sleep in their cozy mansions,
Which I hear are featured on TV.
I don’t have a TV, to watch the news,
I lost everything in post elections,
My property and money, family, and my dignity.
I voted for a better Kenya,
And it turned me into a refugee in my own country.
They say I am internally displaced,
But they don’t seem to want to change my status.
Am I not a Kenyan like you?
Did I not build this nation like you?
Is it that my life is worth less than yours?
Is it that I am not worthy of remembrance
Unless as a statistic of the political violence?
Why have You forgotten me?
Left me to live and die,
In poverty and shame.