Man I miss to be,
Back home in Kanifing,
Sand underneath my feet,
Shade is sought from blazing heat,
Where taxi drivers hustle me,
Itchy outstretched palms are scratched with Dalasis,
I can't wait for tobaski,
I can almost smell the Benachin,
We all avoid politics but bemoan the ascendancy,
As salaatu khairu minan nawm,
Yes I hear Him calling me,
Laboon-lupein are the stories that were told to me,
If I could walk to Gambia,
I swear I'd leave immediately,
Tapalaapa senfoor is the bread of choice I choose to eat,
Butter it up and bring the tea,
I'm nafseh for the smilin coast but all it's young ones wish to leave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem