The tinny little lone stone
An over sight of many at a time
But for the appearance of Omalicha
How has years moulded you
The fabaceous dike
You are many a part necessary
You echo like the wind in silence
Yet you are heard in many solid grounds
Dike nime ogbe
Your person through your day called
And Omalicha must answer
For you were that awakened this art in her
Dike nime ogbe
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem