If I do not die tonight
I shall be stronger in the morrow
I shall trample the empty streets of Lagos
With the roving feet of my eyes
I shall listen to the silent rhymes of our silence
And dance as I sip the first smokeless air
Left in the wake of our isolation
If I do not die tonight
I shall be stronger in the morrow
Waiting for the hands of the sun to come wake me as it shines on the empty chairs in our parks
Through my window I shall look through
my neighbours window for a moment
Before I shout a loud good morning
If I do not die tonight
I shall be stronger in the morrow
I shall jog a few miles in the corner of my room and ignore the car horns that are not blaring
I shall grab my old pen and verse a poem
Of how the whole world bend-the-kneel to a crowned deadly contagion
If I do not die tonight
I shall be stronger in the morrow
I shall tell of how it went from cities to villages, taking breaths away along the way
I shall tell of how it takes hostages at will and for entertainment slaughters men and women
Especially those who dared.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem