KABEDOOPONG PIDDO DDIBE'
THE PRODIGAL FATHER
My desire for you is now tasteless,
My body hates seeing you:
You have an inborn cancer of headstrongness,
And now, too used to obey me.
I want someone who obeys me like an unquestionable priest:
One who, if I gas so stanchly, swallows the smell up;
And if I fart so deliciously, spits it out,
You are not that type!
I see waves of wrinkles on your face:
No more glory, faded beauty!
I need faces lotions still embrace,
Full-make-upped bodies, lips dripping lipsticks;
Bodies that bring me current, brown as bricks.
Not your rusty feet,
Cracked like the mouths of river-banks,
Sooty logged-legs, dirty chicken feet.
You compete with naked-footed chicken;
Ducks are even better than you, woman.
I, Ojuk, am still a baby, only forty years old!
I need not your sixteen year-old old face,
You make the village married bachelors scorn me,
That Ojuk, the husband of Nyalano,
The village hero, has an old woman at his home as a wife!
You become a ghost and disappear from my face like a dog that gased.
I shuffle and re-shuffle your faces
Your innocent-looking murderous faces,
Beneath white teeth lie rotten smells!
Rats are measured by ranks,
Ranks are measured by sizes,
Sizes are measured by loyalty,
Loyalty is measured by spittle-licking,
He that licks spittle can lick asses.
You are my best enemy,
You state-trained rubber-footed army.
I shuffle and re-shuffle you like aces,
I scatter you to Somalian field of fire,
Call you back and re-shuffle you;
My golden hands shake your wooden hands,
Yellow Khaki envelopes,
Cut your revolutionary intrigues
Against my thirty five years village rule.
A Man of People, I am;
Steering the train of poverty-wheel,
Goats, come and feast with me,
Wolves, wear sheep-clothes,
Cover me up in hypocrisies,
Smiles deceive eyes,
Flush your yellow teeth
If you see my extravagant car-convoy,
So I measure you money in sacks.
I shuffle and re-shuffle you, death-holders,
Embrace my prosperity for all,
Though you know it is poverty for all,
A fool follows another fool,
RUPING AND ANYADWEE
Anyadwee, you are a noble savage,
And you are, thus, backward!
I, Natasha, am a civilized savage,
But you say look awkward.
That my skillfully applied make-ups
That sparkle like disco-lights
Are a mere Christmas Tree.
That my pretty fire-engine
Red, pinky lipsticks, lip-glossed lips
Resemble traffic lights.
That my nice, blue eyebrows and lashes
That attract congregations like a magnet,
Are grossly dyed like a Malaya' s;
And smooth powdered face
Looks like a witch' s ashy face,
Circling people' s huts at midnight.
That I wear dead whiteman' s hair,
Plucked and painted by an artist,
Woven into wigs and worn on bald heads,
Creating an illusion- a beauty.
That my tall, red, hard claws resemble the Lucifer' s,
Dipped into a sacrificial blood-pot,
And my bleached black skin is a spotted python:
A modern disgrace to Tee-Kwaro Acholi.
I, Anyadwee, say so,
Natasha, the Civilized City One!
I see flock of brainless men fly
And whistle after you,
But you won' t win my lover, Ruping.