Since 1902

POETS' CORNER: APOLLO MY SON

Apollo my son
I come to you more bitter than gall
For I feel that the nine tiring months
Of you in my womb was just but passing my time
My eyes sense neither the fruit of my labour
Of my screeching screams as I toiled hard
Extremely hard to make you see this world

Apollo my son
Many years after selling my herd of cattle
The price of the woman that befits our clan
The most conversant one with herbal concoctions
There still is no sign of a grandchild my son
Five years and counting Apollo
How can a man be this less of a man

Apollo my son
What has befallen you last one of my womb?
Who cast a spell on you?
That even the pots in Otoyo’s busaa spree
Smell you in smiles from a distance
Ready to receive your never ending cuddles

Apollo my son
What man leaves his house at dawn?
Only to be seen in the wee hours
Staggering in drunkenness and confusion in his eyes
While men rest at the bosom of those they bought
The women that sire and sire to build their clans
You choose to drink froth instead