Too numb to strain the anthem
So scared to dance the rhythm
The slogan for a youthful town
Where lust camouflage love
And joy at last frown
O what odd love
With loud whispers of silence
She flows down her course
Like a stream
To a lonely garden's fence
Where she watch the flowers dance
To the whispers of the wind
That wing the solitary song of a flute
Blown by a young squirel
From the rivers pride
In Benue's bowel
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem