I quiz through the mosquito nets
Wrapped up like a cage on my camp-bed set
Men like bees, smuggling around lawless
Dust which leans on the Coca-Cola's glass neck
A teabag floats in a silver tinplate pot
Where even a dream can wreak and choke
As Malaria grows in the mosquito's gut
She makes your life in a red blood drop
You can imagine a cloud from the kettle' steam
Or a buffalo pawing into a locomotive's rear
You can figure what it is in a woman's dream
But can only guess what's behind this screen
All alone, you Mother and insolent queen
You might try to keep it all cosy and clean
But you twist instead your limbs on spears
Beyond the net, wheezing in a noisy sin
Then go Africa, go! Show us your groin
Grime your dream, while oiling your skin
Sunset whispers to you filthy things
As you laugh at me and at my spleen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem