In or around 1980,
The sun on a sunday, refused to come,
Neither did it rise or arrive,
As dark clouds engulfed the sky..
An aura of sadness, a melancholy…
The previous nights, more naughty,
As the half grown moon, kept her eye,
Partly in the clouds,
Partly out of the clouds,
To relay the forthcoming,
Demise of a great man,
Makuba son of Kasheija,
Of Kishunju..
The next three days, the moon,
Was encircled with or by a white ring,
As the galaxy rioted,
We mourned evenings and mornings,
At the passage of this indomitable man
Today the sun, again refused to rise,
In this great Naalya valley,
Perhaps escorting Oulanya,
Via Karuma…
As strange things detour
