There among the people of kusu,
Lived a warrior by the name Lusa.
He never lost a fight but once-
That cold winter morning was different
People presumed him winner,
Even before the fight started.
He had a weakling called Kita for an opponent,
And so the people thought he would pounce on him,
Mould him like clay,
Pull him by the thick beard that was his trademark,
And win the fight without breaking a sweat.
But it was never to be,
Kita,knowing his losing status,
Took the fight to Lusa.
And so Lusa fought to maintain his winning status,
While Kita fought to win.
And so as the fight progressed,the people clapped,
They also sung in praiseof Lusa,
They were not used to someone else winning,
And so Lusa sung along as he fought,
Still,the belts were tucked on his waist
It was still his fight to lose
While for Kita,it was his fight to win
Lusa got carried away.
And so he would throw a punch,miss,and clap
He was happy because the people were happy,
And they wanted him to win.
Kita knew too well that this did not count,
The singing could be deferred to later.
What counted were the hits
And he accumulated them untill it was too late for Lusa,
Too late to make a comeback.
And that was how Lusa,the greatest lost to Kita
People would then tell stories to their children,
Teaching them virtue and vice
And they would say
Do not lose like Lusa of Kusu who lost to Kita as he clapped.
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