The voice of your smell in the kitchen
Went into a bamboo seat, the dinning set
After a cook of you and I, well two cooked dish
We had to eat facing faces of flowers
A laugh was a raining day falling
Of the journey to midnight melodies
I felt the floor, the roof and your fears
Between you and I, me carried the towel
Over the bamboo seat to rub off your reflections
Over the bamboo table was a source of smile
And made up our delicious African course
And welcomed to our insima, fish of vegs
In the seat of you and I
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem