Today I sat in a matatu-overloaded,
Like too many potatoes in a sufuria-overheated
I sat near a handsome man,
He never spoke to me
He lowered my esteem
From the land I come from,
Men must shsh! shsh! Me,
But this man yawa,
His face a stone.
I tried to look at him
With eyes suggesting love,
His face wrinkled
like a man who had seen shit.
I know what he thought,
A whore I was.
Too beautiful maybe I scared him,
With my braids, expensive.
He was poor,
judging by his clothes,
But I want handsome boys and beautiful girls.
Imagine two hours on the clever road
And his voice I never heard.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem