GEORGE THE TIRED POET

📸 UBOS  I imagined me, Sitting, watching a household finish their lunch, Wash their hands,  Wipe their Mouths.  Then me, Salivating, swallowing.  Sticking my eyes on their throats, How they Galloped food down the oesophagus.  I then imagined me, Being a Patriotic Enumerator. Counting because I love my country. Because I love my Dear District,  Because I love my County, Because I love my Sub county,  Because I love my Parish, Because I love my Village,  Because I love my father's family.  I then imagined me writing a Poem today, For all suffering Enumeration officers. Then I wrote this . © Ochago George William.  @George The Tired Poet. 2024. #PoeticSundays.

📸 Google Photos.  When a Man Cries, They say he is weak, He is never a man,  He lost his gender to tears. When a Man Cries,  Male chauvinists Refer to him as a woman- It is a taboo for a man to shed tears. In my society, A man has to cry deep inside, He has to keep the pain under his chest- For he is a stone of diamond. Women in my community Make fun of men who shed tears in public- For they are as weak as sisters, They should be awarded with breasts. When a Man Cries, They say he is weak, He is never a man,  He lost his gender to tears. Society dictates, His strength is in the balls, He must not betray the round twin- For he the King of Strength. When a man cries, He is a woman, He is one of the sisters- He must be awarded with breasts-for men don't cry, They say. ©The Tired Poet.