Sleep seemed to have wished me au revoir
I was left to rollick amidst a strange euphoria
I saw mirage within a myopic distance
Then some poets diagnosed what my nausea was
What was the prognosis?
The prognosis they chanted:
My head contained nothing but the penchant
For dreaming about the lass Kanky!
(For Mercy Kankara a.k.a. Kanky, a lady who perculiarly found out that I am a poet)
Inquisitive poem, Short but well rounded. Good one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sometimes mirages make me nauseous too, as well as myopic. Three cheers for Las Skanky!