I simply like it that way,
The torture my thoughts subject me to
That moment when my brains can’t stop.
My processing unit seems to be over speeding.
The idea is good
But timing seems to early.
3 O’clock in the morning,
I wake and sit
Nothing to work on
But mind at work.
I picture the young lady somewhere
Sitting by the seashore,
Her tiny face hid behind the uncombed hair.
With her torn jeans she sits direct on the sand,
Her mind miles apart with her body.
Her soul seems tormented
Only if I could predict…
Armed with curiosity,
My tongue won’t stay still
That is until I understand her story.
Whether it’s worth it,
No one cares.
My mission, almost impossible
Is to put a smile on her face.
Chit chat and the story goes on,
In a flash she drops a tear
And the next moment they are tears.
Young girl pours out her heart,
“I am young, I have dreams, I have expectations…”
“And the problem is,” I jump in;
Young girl bursts out;
“He is old, ugly, polygamous…”
That is when I understand her trauma,
Young girl is suffering the wrath of rot tradition,
A husband imposed on her
Simply because parents believe she is an asset.
To her the marriage will be a daily torture,
For them it will be a fortune
For he is a rich bastard.
A man of no shame,
Lacking sense in it’s commonness
Finding a wife in her
A girl his son was senior to in school.
What’s wrong with this world,
If all these old madalas enjoy the honey of our generation,
What will be left for us then,
Or do they expect us to then take home a secondhand wife?
So we should wait for their final sleep,
Until then we would to suffer in lust
Longing for their wives who could’ve been ours,
Only if they were not greedy.
No no no,
For me this won’t work.
I can’t see the morale decay prevail,
And they preach Ubuntu
When they can’t control their conjugal thirsts for fresh blood.
Enough is enough,
No acrimonious man should temper with the honey of my generation.