Saving themselves from pigeons in bondage
Insane with beauties of sunset missions
Musing on deadly sunlight transmissions
Picking mushrooms of death to encourage
Armies inflamed with hope to supersede
Offerings of rotten gains born of the greed
Misleading the city of the half-dead
On towards the land of the midnight bread
Looting a country sober from bad luck
Usurpers of the franchise keep in lock
All tongues that have a strong taste to speak up
Before the saint of death bearing the cup
Imposed on any lip that speaks wrongly
Forced on the mouths that for truth speak strongly.
Copyright © Saving Themselves by Simpa Omoluabi
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem