THE PETRICHOR
Beneath this surface,
The valued subdued.
As the silent yard,
Got them consumed.
Shifted off but heaven
The walls of darkness.
Anewly to us born,
Cloud of rainy days.
Made with us an oath,
By land on we live.
PETRICHOR, the promise,
Against our stench smell.
But our lieges!
Are winter gust.
The bored-ship makers,
They are the tide,
To our paddless canoes.
20TH AUGUST 14.
7: 04 A.M
KWARA STATE
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem