I leap and clap and in ecstasy sway,
To a beat that –they claim -is only in my head,
I scream with delight at the clouds, all so bright,
In yellows and golds and silvers and reds,
And yet they insist the sky is just blue-white.
The sky softly whispers, a quick contradiction,
“Don’t worry,” it says, “they lack your insight,’
A fly buzzing past; a charming quick blurry…
Of… Thin legs… Neon colors,… Fragile wings.
Whispers a joke…. I collapse with mirth.
I am filled with happiness, I don’t know why!
The men in white, faces clad in solemn gloom,
Scan me with intensely searching eyes.
Armed with needles and fancy looking tools,
They probe, they pierce, they ask to no end,
Tiring, irritating and never-ending questions,
The women in blue. Ill fitting dresses,
Hand me colored pills and keep a safe distance,
Afraid perhaps of catching happiness?
So I tell them-again- about my husband Mark,
Who sits beside me daily and makes love to me at night,
I tell them about…about the twins; they make five today.
The sad men and blue women; sadly shake their heads,
“Your family is no more,” they shamelessly lie,
“You set them ablaze, three years ago,
In a smoldering fit of rage, that lasted three days.”
My husband beside me, tickled by this remark,
Slides to the floor; laughing, clutching his sides,
A gentle rebuke spills forth from my tongue,
“It isn’t nice, Mark, to laugh at the insane”
by Dorothie Ayebazibwe (Uganda)
Shortlisted for the Beverley Nambozo Poetry Award 2014