Don’t tell me about yourself,
If it’s all about you,
Don’t tell me about your forefathers,
of what good is it to me when their tombs
can’t proclaim their great deeds?
Don’t tell me about life,
when it’s all lies to save your ego,
save the lies for those interested;
those whose brains are infected.
Of what use is your life, when
It doesn’t lead others to success?
Don’t tell me about your achievements,
Tell me not about how much you have,
not the awards and certificates,
Keep your story for those interested;
those whose brains are led to slaughter,
for grave is not such a fool.
Don’t tell me about love,
until you have a definition for it,
Don’t even say you love me,
For you have no clue what love is,
Don’t even tell me God is love,
for you will have to define lovemaking.
Don’t tell me about your philosophy,
if it doesn’t add value to our lives,
Don’t dare speak grandiloquently,
for I won’t call you “his Excellency”
if it won’t put food on my table.
Don’t tell me to get married,
If it will not make me productive,
Don’t tell me to marry you,
If you will be an obstacle to my vision,
Don’t tell me about your virginity,
if it is a bragging right
flaunted to taunt others.
Don’t tell me to have my own children,
For in this folly we think we are holy,
but of what good is it to increase the population
and feed them with malnutrition?
Of what good is it to give birth when
children are everywhere in need of parents?
Don’t tell me about you until you become
a parent without a child of your own.
Don’t tell me, No,
I say, don’t tell me.
As written by