The regal "Akwa" shed its wear
As it gently sway
In Harmattan gale
From buds hidden
Tender leaves sprout in colour
The beauty of all eyes
The pods clap and split
Along a line of fault
Then seeds and halves scatter
White legged we rushed to pick
The seeds to play
The halves fuel to fire.
(Saturday 5th October,1996)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem