poetry

1. My brothers...
My good friends,sons of the hills
If by having your daughter am a criminal
That brings you in my cottage with arrows, bows
And furious horses
And machetes
Then I will accept the crime

2. I will not lower my pride
Your selfish ambitions
To give my betrothed to chief Thiga
Sowing where you reaped not
Has cost you your testicles

3. That I should give thrice Thiga’s 15 heads
To get what is rightfully mine
What gave her heart and soul to me?
And risked a curse to have me
And my father blessed that
Now you risk your testicles

4. You beat her last night
For the clandestine river moments
Where I provoked her body
Mind
Soul too
And she bred rebellion
And your anger too
Has cost you your testicles

5. That I stole your daughter…
Eheee sons of your father
How can someone steal what is his?
How can one steal from himself?
Unless you want your testicles crushed

6. I came diplomatically