Was I not there,
In the prime of
my youth,
When the art of
wooing was
No uncircumcised
boys’ business,
In my remote emusembe
village?
Wasn’t I there?
Was I not the village
cock,
Conqueror of all
hearts
That charmed all
the girls
Into my grass-thatched
lair
With the sweet-little-nothings
Of my smooth tongue?
Wasn’t I?
Was I not there,
In the era of
the night discos,
When Sukuma Bin
Ongaro blared
At ear-deafening
volumes, and
Girls would
sneak out into the dark night?
Wasn’t I there?
Was I not the knight
of the night,
The unmatched conjurer,
that
When unbearded boys
fidgeted
Unable to locate
their balls,
Would ensnare all
the disco girls
Like a flame does
the moth?
Wasn’t I?
Now, I watch
from afar,
As my unbridled son,
A chance occurrence
In the thick of my hay days,
And his counsel
of “hyenas”
Double tap on “Instagram”
And snooze on “Twitter”
Trailing skimpily
garbed lassies,
What a travesty
of manhood!
Whatnot became of
The fine hoary
days,
Before the “e” craze
left them
Bereft of their
manhood?
