My heart, to her she demands I surrender
That I refuse, I don’t supply tender
I feel not what she feels nigh nor yonder
This, her I have told to ponder
But no, affection is afflicting her mind
Cry she does, we time to spend
Cannot, I too busy weekend till weekend
Text on phone nocturnally she send
Lies I reply and 'goodnight' I append
But no, affection is afflicting her sense
An occupation love is, one should commit
Demands too damning I won’t submit
Of course then, that of 'sensual summit'
Nature of work cannot regularly permit
But no, affection is afflicting her patience
Decry I her openness to love thoughtlessly
Contain she can’t a weakling supposedly
Obsession I call it she’s idle and lonely
“Make yourself busy” I tell her amicably
But no, affection is afflicting her personality
By Clifford Okumu.
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