My father's house,
an adobe,
mud-and-wattle plus cowrie shell
synthetic mould,
cuddling our miserable, naked feet
and reminding us of the
ascetic nature of our sires...
Incommoding...
Incorporeal upliftments salute us
as the years grapple with us,
to raise our heads high and plan to build
with bimetallism,
a senior adobe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem