and there, up and near, to behold
distinct on the horizon, the
cyclical smiles of the moon at dawn
many still tied to bed,
the smiles beam
and beam impressively, to behold
a more kinder face, to behold
and our village still busy
mourning youths slaughter, for
dreaming a Trumpian Biafra dream
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem