Oh – children!

Oh – children!

What has become of thee?

I hear that these days,

You do terrible things;

Things that cause your mothers

To strip naked and lie in roads!

Things that cause your fathers

To cover their mouths with their hands

Saying - ‘Ayibambe! … Katondawatu!’

What has become of thy dreams?

That you walk around like corpses,

Empty of soul,

Empty of life!

What has become of your love?

That you should hover like hawks,

Circling on high,

Sizing each-other up,

Minds set upon prey!

What has become of your hearts?

That you should defile your little girls,

And starve you little boys?

That you should knock your wives,

And mock your husbands!

What has become of your manhood,

Was it crucified with Jesus at Calvary?

Was it entombed for three days,

Yet rose not?

Why do you whine,

Like female hyenas in labor?

Perhaps it is your women that mount you!

And as for your womanhood,

Did a thief make off with it in the night?

Did it suddenly become unfashionable,

Like your virginity?

Why are you no longer proud?

Of motherhood,

Of wifehood,

Of raising warriors and grooming queens!

I hear, daughters –

That you have cut off your breasts,

And even sewn bananas between your thighs!

I hear,

That you make your men cook for you,

That they bathe you;

Even breast-feed for you!

By the way – is it true,

That they also get pregnant for you?

Oh – children;

Lose not hope!

When a house catches flame,

Do you burn along with it?

Or do you,

Knowing that rebuild you must,

Put out the fire, clear the rubble,

And raise anew!

Don’t act like that last stubborn drop of urine,

Stuck in the urethra,

Itching and gnawing,

Like an ant in the (r)ear!

It has been vouchsafed me,

That you – son,

Prefer the company of brown bottles,

To that of your ‘totos’ !

That you flee your homes

Like they have fleas,

And prefer bars and nightclubs,

To teas and book-clubs!

Son - don’t be the nestling,

That refused to leave the nest,

Feathers fully fledged,

Yet not flying forth!

Be the strong oak, I say!

Alas - be the mighty baobab;

Take root,

Deep and deeper!

Hands should bend not,

Winds shake not

Worries shudder not!

As for you, daughters,

Why have you reduced yourselves to sumbusaaz ?

Being grabbed-at and munched-up,

By pot-bellied grandpas thrice you age?

Why have you become porcupines?

Prickly of manner,

Thorny of chatter,

Constantly saying –

Keep away!

Touch at own risk of emotional electrocution!

Who has convinced you,

That the whole world is your bedroom,

Is this why

 you walk around,

In night-dresses, all day?

Daughters;

Be the lionesses

In this African Savannah!

Suckling the cubs,

Tending the lions,

Trimming their mane

When too shaggy it grows!

But always aware;

That it is only they,

And not you – who wear the mane!

                    

August, 2015

                   (Archived with the Lantern Meet of Poets)

*Non-English words are in the 'Ganda' and 'Kitara' Bantu dialects of Uganda