Raw fish, dried fish, fried fish too,
plastic pails in red and blue.
Peppers, plantains, yams and stew,
the market has it all for you.
Fufu pounded while you wait,
pork and goat meat on a plate.
Pots and pans both small and great,
too many things to calculate.
Snails aplenty in their shells,
vendors’ voices weaving spells.
Sights and sounds and wondrous smells,
a gathering of all that sells.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem