Aviator
Elder Lister
Poetry lovers, what's the message here?
#THE #BROOM#
*My husband's broom is worn out*
*Whenever he uses it to sweep*
*He leaves the compound untidier than before.*
*He seems not to mind and even laughs about it.*
*Men of Shinyalu come talk to my husband*
*Let him know this is a serious matter.*
*Who will the daughter of Shinyalu blame?*
*She will blame herself,*
*When her agemates were getting married to strong village men*
*Who were raised on* *lisutsa, tsisaka, rikhuvi and miro*
*She powdered her face and went for a man from the city*
*Who had biscuits for breakfast, pizza for lunch and chips for supper.*
*Now she bites her finger in regret and curses everyday*
*My husband can not sweep satisfactorily,*
*He pauses to stretch his back*
*He pauses to yawn*
*When he takes hold of the broom again*
*He works and moves only* *three paces away*
*Then sits on his stool* *sweating profusely*
*wheezing for breath like a mad donkey racing uphill.*
*His broom lying flat on the ground nearby.*
*He says the compound is too vast*
*And that he is busy man*
*He doesn't have time to* *work on it all day.*
*Surely how can the gods give a man such a huge piece of land,*
*Fertile and pleasant to eye,*
*And deny him the brains to satisfactorily take care of it?*
*Akh poh,*
*The daughter of Shinyalu is tired*
*The daughter of Shinyalu will not stand a weak man*
*He must know where I come from*
*Even men as old as 90 seasons sweep their compounds to satisfaction*
*Today is today,*
*He will hold his broom and not drop it till I say so*
*He will cry and howl like a wounded dog*
*But I will not let him stop*
*He will feign fainting and convulsing*
*But I will pour a calabash of water on him*
*And get him back to work.*
*Today he will become a bull*
*Today I will make itaywa out of him*
*If I fail I shall curse my home and leave for my parents house*
*If I succeed he will live to respect the daughters of Shinyalu*
*If he dies in the process ,let him die*
*At least they will say The boy from the City*
*Who took our daughter died a MAN!*
#THE #BROOM#
*My husband's broom is worn out*
*Whenever he uses it to sweep*
*He leaves the compound untidier than before.*
*He seems not to mind and even laughs about it.*
*Men of Shinyalu come talk to my husband*
*Let him know this is a serious matter.*
*Who will the daughter of Shinyalu blame?*
*She will blame herself,*
*When her agemates were getting married to strong village men*
*Who were raised on* *lisutsa, tsisaka, rikhuvi and miro*
*She powdered her face and went for a man from the city*
*Who had biscuits for breakfast, pizza for lunch and chips for supper.*
*Now she bites her finger in regret and curses everyday*
*My husband can not sweep satisfactorily,*
*He pauses to stretch his back*
*He pauses to yawn*
*When he takes hold of the broom again*
*He works and moves only* *three paces away*
*Then sits on his stool* *sweating profusely*
*wheezing for breath like a mad donkey racing uphill.*
*His broom lying flat on the ground nearby.*
*He says the compound is too vast*
*And that he is busy man*
*He doesn't have time to* *work on it all day.*
*Surely how can the gods give a man such a huge piece of land,*
*Fertile and pleasant to eye,*
*And deny him the brains to satisfactorily take care of it?*
*Akh poh,*
*The daughter of Shinyalu is tired*
*The daughter of Shinyalu will not stand a weak man*
*He must know where I come from*
*Even men as old as 90 seasons sweep their compounds to satisfaction*
*Today is today,*
*He will hold his broom and not drop it till I say so*
*He will cry and howl like a wounded dog*
*But I will not let him stop*
*He will feign fainting and convulsing*
*But I will pour a calabash of water on him*
*And get him back to work.*
*Today he will become a bull*
*Today I will make itaywa out of him*
*If I fail I shall curse my home and leave for my parents house*
*If I succeed he will live to respect the daughters of Shinyalu*
*If he dies in the process ,let him die*
*At least they will say The boy from the City*
*Who took our daughter died a MAN!*
