Selfich Poem by Moto Wamwanga

Selfich



The only and special
Thing he could die for,
He'd kill for was meat or
Fish and rarely traditional

Wine called Lutuku. Here
Dogs despite being used
Badly for hunting where
They usually get abused,

Must look for their own food
In bins around or in the wood.
A hungry dog recently gave
Birth under a bed to five brave

And cute little ones. So an old,
Wicked, greedy and bold
Man cooked as on every Sunday
When everyone is in church to pray

To avoid sharing his meat
With his family. Under the heat
Of 35 degrees, he closed all windows
And doors by checking shadows

Of people through a small,
So small hole on the wall
In order not to be surprised
By a visitor, not to be critised.

As soon as the meat got cooked,
Someone, a good friend, nocked
At the old man's door. Regardless
How hot the pot of meat was, this old

Man held it as if it was cold,
Run with it. Despite dust, the mess,
And spider web, he put the pot
Beneath the bed where the dog

Was with her little ones. He then opened
The door and greeted his guest.
While chatting with the best
Friend, guess what just happened

Under the bed! Dogs were in heaven
Partying with the pot of the pig meat
With appetite. They were driven
Crazy. While under the summer heat,

The sitting room was boiling, the guest
Could not stop telling stories, asking
Questions. However, the best
And only thing the host was thinking

Of was the time the friend could leave
To start lonely his festive.
He finally lied that he was about
To go somewhere to find out

How his sister was doing.
Then the guest left suddenly.
When the visitor was going,
He locked back the door safely.

He danced a little bit with joy
And said: 'people are wicked. When
I cook speanache rats don't destroy
My day by visiting me. If it's meat, then

They'd come and spend the whole
Day. They think to be smart.
They don't know me. I'd always start
My festive when they are all

Gone.' So happy, he pulled the pot
Under the bed. The pot came
Out easily and clean without spot
Of oil, sauces. It became

Sparkling. He then remembered
That his dog gave birth under
That bed. He was hit by a thunder.
And all those dogs got slaughtered.

Thursday, June 12, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: funny
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Moto Wamwanga

Moto Wamwanga

Samba(Democratic Rep. Of Congo)
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