The father once ruled as giant
Before freedom of the Giant
Crowned in colony in trust
To prevent the societal thrust
Now heaven falls on safety
Due to the father's naivety
And palatial trust flings away
With no iota of law left byway
Wonder why the father dethroned
So that the son could be enthroned
As blue black uniform buried alive
On the onset of leavesmen born alive
From dawn to dusk the father regreets
With hanged rotten wooden stick on street
Hand stretching for tithe far via the window
Though on nationroll left traveller disendow
He is now but the King's father
Standing in shame of the heat of sun
Standing the street like Northern beggar
Sometimes wonder if he begotten the son
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A poignant rendition set aside for sober reflection. An insightful work of art elegantly embellished with poetic rhyme and rhythm. Thanks for sharing, Abdullahi.