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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Thursday, 27 October 2016

Who am I?

I heard some guys by the street some day-
gossiping with nothing good to say,
"Bwe bwo obwana obuta sasula rent,
(those are the kids that don't pay rent)
Obuzukuka nebusanga emere ku meeza"
that wake up to food on their table)
I knew they were talking about me,
I brushed it off and hoofed back home,
Of course to where I pay no rent and clown
Ayeh do they know me or have a notion of me?
Drawn from clothes and scents wafting off me;
perfumes and clothes bought by my family.
I'm thankful Lord, you gives me the best and-
you have continued to give me in-debt
but only you know the story chest deep.

They don't know that I too weep,
they don't know I too am hunger whipped-
on these streets where it's hard to achieve a feat.
I don't blame them, not one bit!
For they can't see beyond this skin,
to discover the misery of an "educated fool"
even if they could, they have no time for me,
they don't know I walk streets and get sore feet,
sometimes it's cause luxury got the best of me
other times it's cause I don't have a coin that fits
in these pockets that due to my background are "deep.".

Sometimes I curse and call them hopeless sheep,
for pointing fingers to those equally weak.
Often I refrain 'cause it's better than to maim.

So when I have no food or transport to get home
I'm a man my ego wore me and it fits,I didn't ask for it;
besides, paps would say, "get off your feet"
and if my mother heard the stories she'd feel pity
send me more than I need and my ego would shrink.
I don't have it figured out like they think,
all I want is a big brother if dad's too busy,
to guide, teach, and lay a foundation for me
and won't be taken away like my sisters
by men that  please me 'cause it's order of the day,
"nati omuko wasiima, Enzigi zomugulu zegula omwami naalya."
(If the brother in law is pleased, Heaven's gates are open for the husband to feast)
Ayeh I too like many need some long overdue advice,
rather than preach and speak to a house of chairs,
that does not fathom the emotions I fight,

All I want is genuine minute to be asked,
"how are you? No seriously, how are you?"
I swear I'll tell you how I sometimes feel queer,
but I've been celibate too long the devil has started
whispering shit in my itsy bitsy ears,
he wants me to have my buns sans yogurt
yet I like to dunk my flavoured donuts,
that I used to prefer small for some reason
but now I'm grown, A true soul is all I need.
I was taught that it's not about the size
of the sausage nor the mouth it feeds,
It is just that some people are insatiable,
and like to have more than they can eat!
All I want, like everybody else is to be understood
for one to take time to look under the hood;
I know that most of us aren't mechanics
but it doesn't take much to see that an engine
is leaking and the system is down and out run.

All I want is for one to look at the nothingness
the nothingness that is me, beyond the home i'm tenant in,
my beautiful family, the clothes, the visiting money
the material things don't make me who I am,
the only thing in there that I call my own is my family,
beyond this, I am in a lay man's language; lucky

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