You boasted your virility like a bull:
On Monday, you married Amina in Mombasa,
On Friday, you married Wambui in Nairobi,
On Monday, you married Apese in Kakamega,
On Wednesday, you married Aloo in Kisumu.
The son of the warrior-polygamist,
You thought you were on top of the world
And even nursed a dream
Of staging an internet marriage
To that Viking blonde.
Now you are sick and destitute,
And the world looks at you in owe,
The world asks:
How can a man be so foolish
He can conquer
All the women in the world?
In bad taste, you, our warrior,
Remained true to your core,
And now you boast in your defiance
Even in your tragic defeat:
A bull dies while chewing grass.
But you are dying;
Your folly is killing you.
The killer disease is here,
And it is not chira;
It isn’t a curse.
My sisters, run,
Run with your lives,
For your sweet-talking warrior
From Lake Lolwe
Carries a killer-germ in his pants.
Didn’t you hear him say that
"A bull dies chewing grass?"
Who is the Bull?
And who is the Grass?
Think, My Sister.