Born in the hills
And bred in the valleys
Made in Port Harcourt
Fried in Katsina
And posted to Potiskum.
I am the one my country is tossing around
I have gone to the market to buy meat
And I am dettered by a confetti of flies
On twitching muscles of nama
I am away
And my kitchenette like
My country has nothing to offer
I am famished with the service
Of my nation in my stomach.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem