Email Poem

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Poem

Nkporo, my wonderful Nkporo,
The land of great hills and mountains.
Nkporo, my Nkporo, whom my mother dance of,
Father died to pretect you from the Iboms.
I have not fosaken you because your
Blood flows right in my veins.
I inherited the unfaded black skin of your skin,
The sweet sweat of your sweat have I not look down,
Your blood shall not be shared among the wolves
Neither shall your back suffer in pains again.
Although bitter taste of undevelopment hurt you fiercely, but the cracking walls shall soon be repaired.
The trembling red blemish of poverty and torture
Shall be erased soon after we return home.
Nkporo, my country home, weep not;
Those trees along the road shall shield you,
Those streams in their prime shall calm your
Longing for attention.
Then shall their whips be far from you, my love.
We are coming with development to uphold you,
The roses shall we make brighter.
We shall comfort the dusty roads with black diamonds,
The light shall be lifted up to shine in darkness.
Nkporo, oh mother Nkporo, my love,
The land of the rising sun;
The tales of humiliation and underdevelopment shall
Someday be no more when tomorrow comes.

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