At dawn sitting on this terrace under my tangerine
After I had slept in beautiful ugly snatches with mosquitoes
Never convinient at dining snoring in hunger
Taking a little garri and water contrary being the days of harmattan
At a mansion near my little hut
I could hear the sound of the babies nurtured with golden spoons
Cheering with their tea cups flowing along with buttered breads
I thought of misfortune and ascribe this to destiny sometimes.
When it was doomsday, the sophisticated birds
Singing on the palms were heralding night
On my mat do I stay yearning like the beggars
Who strives to always be choosers
Just some kilometers away my home do I perseve the
Sound of the best moukas slept on by chicks of my womb
I thought this would never be a big deal on my banes at night.
Oh I wondered why men were not created equal
What a world of setbacks for the majority overwhelmed with rectitudes
Luxury for the minorities unprecedented in their cerebrums
If I could reproach him above summoned
These could have been swapped in our old and future days
We hope to forestall this since the day never comes
We hope to swap the fortune if we faint not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem