The sky is bright,

The night is dark,

But no waking up the moon,

Let the sun wake us up, Nyambu.

The owls are all over,

They are not birding,

But the cool music is chiming.

The silence is pregnant,

Lest your loud moans, Nyambu,

between the rhymes of the late Jim Morrison.

C’mon don’t wake up the neighbours,

We are in hell don’t startle the devil .


I wish my dad had worked hard for us to live here just like you, in the beautiful mansion, surrounded by guards,

I could’ve been disciplined,

And my morals could’ve been immortal,

I wouldn’t have fallen for a slum boy, like me.

I was born to a slumming village,

Where we used to live squatting around the rubbish,

Daddy on one side and mum on the other side too, pecking scrap metals.

And we used to sell to Baba Nyambu scrap metal shop.


We suffered a lot from cholera and malaria,

And your dad used to redeem our scrap metals  for medicine,from Baba Nyambu chemist.

We starved through our sickness.

My dad toiled to be everything your dad was, he wouldn’t.

But I didn’t needed school to befriend

you, Nyambu.

And take advantage of your hospitality to make you fall for me.

Dad gave me lessons of being a gentleman before he succumbed to illness.

So stop moaning Nyambu,

I don’t want to rot in prison or do I need my child to be born in the slums.

Let the sun wake us up,

And I’ll be part of the family,

Tied by the unborn.




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