To the north the land lies
rolling in hills and valleys with thorns
Of the desert piercing the unrelenting sun
Dust bowls rising and maiming a great number
in the eyes
And the south bears the brunt
Of swarming alms seekers.
Still it is our land where
rain seldom visit
but when it does the onions bulbs
and cabbages and lettuces and broccoli,
bell peppers and watermelons blossom
And southern markets hold in excess of them
This is where the earth harbours
A wealth of berite, tin, quartz, lead
manganese, aluminium, even uranium
Who will sing a song without mentioning
the cattle and goats and sheep
Or sorghum, millet or soya bean or beans
Still this is where poverty builds an abode
Of a sordid type
And illiteracy swarm like locusts
for everyone with a gourd to catch
Most who come down are barbers
And pedicurists and manicurists
But return up when the rain comes
To drive cows and donkeys in ploughshares
And put in seeds that will sprout and
feed the nation at large
Still here lies squalor from what moves
The nation ahead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem