MY LOVE; STILL WAITING.
In the evenings I usually sit,
It is because I love to listen to evening shrieks,
Shrieks from the frogs in the nearby river.
River Ramacha is as old as the area,
Having raised gone generations, past peasants of this area,
And every day I sit near it I remember my love.
We sat on the banks of this river, years gone now,
Her tender and soft skin rubbed against my hard skin,
Obviously having been burnt by the fierce sun rays,
Many days in the herd field and others in the in the shamba,
Doing the justice of manhood according to my tribesmen.
My sweetheart loved seating close to me,
Listening to the stories of my imagination,
About the future dreams I had for the two of us,
And she loved listening to every line intently,
Asking interestingly about when the dreams will hatch,
And all I could say was, “one day they will.”
Then she moved to the city to go and learn,
Promising to come back and marry me,
And I waited anxiously, for my scholar woman.
I have been living faithfully waiting for my love,
I now have lots of herd of animals,
Not forgetting of the best greenhouses and vegetable farms.
Last month I heard that my love is coming back to the village,
And out of curiosity I went to “see” the parents last week,
As custom demands so as to “talk” with them.
They welcomed me very well,
And introduced me to my love’s little child called junior.
We didn’t talk much, but I lie every evening,
Lying in hope of my love’s arrival,
For us to talk of her academic life, lonely moments,
And finally about junior.