Daughter of the Low Land by Peter Anyang' Nyong'O

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After I have communed with them

With dead men's ideas

"Nya dyang"" comes to me 

With accusing persuasion:

"Come, "wuod twon', 

My activities are vital."

I do not let my testicles 

Be crushed when I am wide awake

By the ghosts of an alien clan

In the half-lighted book-cave;

No!

When I sheathe the family spear

And unfeather the poison-horned arrow;

When I expose the daughter of the low land

To village gossip and contempt:

Then the books that I read

Smash my testicles in my sleep!

My testicles

Have not been smashed

By heavy books!

"Ocol,

Drink from the roots;

You were first wedded to me

And then to Plato

And Aristotle."

I do not sit there

In that forest 

Of dead men's heads

Letting their heavy tongues- 

Like "rungus"-

Butt my balls to wind's dust;

No!

Like the emissary

Of a semi-famished land,

Or the scout of a belligerent army, 

I brew with the enemy 

And drink with my people.

And when I return home

To the daughter of the brave one, 

The yeast from the low land 

Makes my manhood 

Rise.