Read Poems by
Morning walks towards the bohemian noon.
Before that, she went for a walk
in Romna, a moonlit grove.
Like an adolescent flower-girl,
Morning commencd dancing in the air of dawn
Money flies by the touch of the sweet smell
Sweat doesn’t shed in the income of porters.
Now the central AC is on in twice harvesting office.
Wearing suit and tie, all the Satans are sitting there
with greedy eyes.
A herd of black beasts do guard the coffin of Morning.
The blazing noon makes coalition
with the thin dark night.
Yet the Night gradually walks
towards the debris of the shore
like the call girls of a bar.
Translation: Sayeed Abubakar