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Nationality: Uganda
Email: jntaro@gmail.com



CONSUL, REPRESENTATIVE, JASON NTARO is one of Uganda’s top performance poets, and mentor.

His first experience on the public poetry stage was on 27th April 2007 at the National Theatre. Performance of his original composition, “Three Years, Two Months, Five Days”, a poem on domestic violence, introduced Kampala to his unique talent. Jason Ntaro has since performed at multiple poetry platforms and festivals in East Africa.


Cónsul, representante, JASON NTARO es uno de los poetas de alto rendimiento de Uganda, y mentor.

Su primera experiencia en el escenario de poesía pública fue el 27 de abril de 2007 en el teatro nacional. El desempeño de su composición original, "tres años, dos meses, cinco días", un poema sobre la violencia doméstica, introdujo a Kampala a su talento único. Jason Ntaro ha actuado desde entonces en múltiples plataformas de poesía y festivales en África Oriental.



We open our eyes to closed worlds.
We close our ears to open sounds.
We listen and we try to see,
But, we don't try to keep the things that mean most to us.

We burn everything;
Burn everything down,
Then we laugh out loud
See this sad clown,
Standing like trees
Waving with the wind,
Weaving all of our sadness,
And all of our sadness,
And all of our sadness,
In fickle happiness.

We buy into everything,
We believe in nothing.
We consume everything,
But we feed on nothing.
We live,
We live,
We live...
To die!

We open our eyes to nothingness.
We try to realise a "reality" that means nothing to us.
We constantly build walls and walls and walls,
And never climb them.

How can we climb these self created walls high above us all?
How can we go out,
Reach out,
Breathe in and take nature for what it is?

Why must we suffocate our lives with all the things that we try to believe and achieve? Why must we cover ourselves
With masks and illusions?

It's a façade.
A sad mask that hides the emptiness deep in our souls?
Digging for gold and gold and more gold,
And not realising the truth of what's being told.

Everything is being lost;
Our land,
Our breath,
Our lives,
Our minds,
Our children,
The elders,
The youth...
Everyone is being used!
Being taken advantage of!

Why can't we realise the lies that lie between the lines?
Why do we close ourselves off?

We need to open our minds, our eyes, our ears,
Our souls.
We need to seek for things more than plastic and gold.
We need to seek for things that are real,
Things that are real,
Things that are real,
The fire, the fire, the fire,
Deep in our souls...

All I see is adults in children’s bodies forced to grow fast, Walking with big backpacks filled with dictated notes,
While those in cars do their homework stuck in traffic jam.

See them!

Swarms and swarms of students
Trained to cram their cranium with this curriculum
Just to pass on paper
With no idea on how to use the information practically.

So now aggrieved by the aggressor they seek for a future in this bottleneck society Where success is defined by possession.
Who cares about passion?
A system deliberately created to create creatures of habit.
Detached. Disillusioned.
We know how, but we don’t know why!

Where have all the children gone?

At home, their eyes are transfixed on all kinds of screens:
Text, TV, pc
Subtly being consumed by consumerism,
Feeding their narcissism with images of perfection
Getting sucked into a different dimension
Ignoring the reality of their own situations.

Listen to the silence in the air...
What happened to the joyful sound of the laughs of children playing under the sun?

Where have the children gone?

And then they graduate.
Then they graduate and wear the emperor’s perfect gown,
Invisible and useless.
Just a cloak
To hoodwink one into believing that they have reached a certain semblance of accomplishment.
So now the young run around
Hurry hurry in a flurry

Scurry scurrying about like headless chicken looking for a living, With their university degrees in hand,
Where are the jobs
Where are the jobs?
Where are the jobs?

Where have all the children gone?

Did the pide piper finally pay his visit?
Perhaps it was peter pan with his ideas of a Neverland
Corrupting their minds with ideas of no responsibility,
Just fun.
Or was it the ogre with an overwhelming hunger for the young?


Who wields the weapons to slice the ogres bellies open and retrieve our children? Whose responsibility is it to guide them once we have them?
What can we set in place to pace their passion towards a fruitful space? Well it seems the answer is to just...


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