by Hans Senfuma
In the heart of Uganda, where crimson earth meets azure sky, A secret blooms, fragile and forbidden, like a wilting lily. Here, love wears a mask, concealing its tender face, For to reveal its truth is to court the wrath of fate.
In the quiet alleys, where whispers cling like dewdrops, Lives unfold in muted hues, painted by fear’s cruel brush. Two souls entwined, their love a fragile flame, Dance in clandestine moonlight, seeking solace in shadows.
They are Adam and Eve, but not as the ancient tale tells, Their forbidden fruit is love itself, ripe and sweet. Yet society’s scorn rains down upon them like a monsoon, Each drop a condemnation, each thunderclap a judgment.
The bill passed in parliament, inked with prejudice, Life sentences woven into its cruel fabric, For daring to say, “I am gay,” they face the abyss, Their hearts imprisoned, their dreams shackled.
Behind cold bars, they languish silent cries echoing, Their love letters crumpled, ink smudged with tears. In the darkness, they trace constellations on cell walls, Hoping for a celestial miracle, a reprieve from despair.
Their families, once hearths of warmth, now icy winds, Turned informants, their love betrayed by blood. Mothers weep, fathers disown, siblings avert their eyes, As if love were a contagion, a curse to be purged.
And what of the rainbows that once arched across their souls? Now faded, mere memories etched in gray. They yearn for acceptance, for a world less cruel, Where love is not a crime, but a sacred hymn.
In the prison yard, they hold hands through iron grates, Their fingers brushing, seeking solace in touch. Their love story, etched in dust, whispers to the wind, A requiem for stolen kisses, for dreams unfulfilled.
Oh, Uganda, your soil drinks their tears, Your skies weep for the love you’ve condemned. But in the quietude of night, when stars weep too, Their love persists a defiant bloom in a barren land.
So let us weep, dear reader, for these silenced hearts, For love imprisoned, for souls denied their song. May our tears nourish the roots of change, Until Uganda’s soil blooms with acceptance, not scorn.
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