Here stand I growing,
A vioce from your homey womb,
With an epic of your salient life
Still beating on the face of Earth.
Mama,
Matriach of the moon;
Your words and hands made me.
My first bride; my African pride.
Who shall I compare you with in this world?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is no better love than a mothers love. A great poem.