By Shem Onderi
You hold all the secrets of the voter.
Emotions surge the moment he steps in,
Sometimes uncontrollable,
Sometimes leading him to the wrong choice.
Some see the time in the booth as too short,
Too fleeting to make the right decision.
The booth stands small, silent, alone—
A place for the voter to be alone.
Voices in the booth are silent,
Yet too loud to ignore: voices of confusion.
Its corners are dim, shadowed,
Awakening the mind, opening the eyes
To let more light in,
To choose wisely.
The battle between a sober and undecided voter
Is often lost here.
The pen, the booth’s bedfellow,
Sometimes misbehaves,
Ticking beyond the lines provided.
The wise, the barefoot, the wicked
All face the booth at some time.
The voter, the booth, and the pen
Share only brief moments together.
Often the booth gives direction.
Often, the booth wins.