By Shem Onderi
You cannot spot a white elephant
In the jungle where elephants roam.
No one has ever domesticated an elephant,
Nor do the archives hold a record
Of anyone who ever farmed one.
Elephants are huge, their tusks grow
As they age, and so does their rumble.
They trumpet loudly,
Too loudly to be ignored.
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Elephants expend great energy making their voices heard;
The jungle must know they are around.
Huge as an elephant may be,
When a female gives birth,
She brings forth a calf so small
That it is hard to imagine
It will one day grow so huge.
White elephants, however, are born in grand plans,
Huge in ambition, impressive in the mind.
A massive investment promises great returns,
Perhaps, if only it is implemented.
But execution becomes an anthill, then a mountain,
And the grand project never takes shape.
A white elephant cannot trumpet;
It cannot give birth to a calf.
The jungle cannot trace its whereabouts,
For it exists only in grand plans and promises.
And so the project remains white,
Unrealised, untraceable,
An impractical idea.
