In this our honourable land, we smile while there is torture.
Rain dugs our cheek at early depature,
i forgot its an old culture.
Kirikiri is better than freedom,
i am weary of this kingdom, i thought we have buried sordom,
in it i see no but bordom.
Where is moses, sleep walking is our preacher,
his bell in a cold whisper,
it is not yet winter, yet our smiles geting fainter mourning is sour, morning maybe better
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Brother u make plenty a sense, and a deep one for those from naija. Just a few errs i guess. 'rain digs our cheek'