Death is a mock,
Once you are gone,
She that holds your surname is dubbed ‘widow’
Before night falls,
Your chum will inherit her.

Death is a mock!
An athlete, a hawker and an overseas merchant
Will no more move,
Death is a mock!

A sluggard kinsman will own your fields,
A jobless brother will inherit your mansion,
Children with bedrooms ‘upstairs’
And air-conditioned toilets
Will become urchins and street beggars,
Death is a mock!

A city belle will have her face planted
At the level of roots like it’s a bean seed.
Death is a mock!

Wild cats and dogs you threw stones at
Will trample on you
Because you are six feet below life,
Death is a mock!
© Namaganda