Must Live Poem by Wafula p'Khisa

Sabina left the aggravation of my mat
for the warmth of another man's bed on the hill

But I'll not go home
and put a bullet in my head

I'll not caress the bottle all day;
worshipping it for comfort
to drown my stress

I'll not grease a sorcerer's hands again
to rush my lover's latest lover
to early grave

I'll not lock up myself and weep for eternity
It'll gladden Madame's heart to drop me

Everywhere, hearts are torn into pieces
but they gather themselves and move, slowly move
for man must live.