Before the tree withers.

His thoughts were of something beautiful,
He that had it all, his charm was a fruit that bore desire,
Those that yearned for desire got hooked, for he was a drug,
Whose addiction was intoxicating. A god they said, a master player,
I’m a fun loving guy, he’d say. And the beauties would cling on this beautiful tree,
Salivating on the sweetness of it’s fruit.
How could one with no appeal became the berry on the lips of all the Queens?
The dancer that kept all the damsels on their feet,
He had his fun, his moments, such beautiful thoughts,

This tree would soon wither,
Before the sunken skin, before he lost his moisture,
He had to pick from all the beauties,
One with an allure of a goddess and the strength of a lioness,
One that wouldn’t cling too tight on a tree for the fruits, she that bore desire,
But his stories like bush fire had spread,
Stories of a reincarnated Solomon,
He’d love to get hooked and burn with desire for just one,
But which one would over look the stories?
Or believe a tree with an attraction so strong and such an allure,
would keep only one, have eyes for just one?
Would such a tree used to embraces from many climbers be satisfied by just one?
The vibrant tree with a desire to quench a thirst of that which was rare and yet so abundantly provided .
Would he ever find now that he was seeking,
Or would it be a question of, ” utaoa lini?”
A thought of something beautiful,
Of a start of the tree’s other life.
Mary muema.