Ìlú Ori Omi

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Tí mo bá fò kúrò lórí ọkọ̀ ojú omi, áyun ní yóò jẹ́ fún mi

láti dá wá nínù ẹja ńlá inú ibú.

òjò tó pa igún, kò ní kó má fò,

gbogbo ǹkan lalè pàdànu nínù omi,

kò sì dá oùn ìràntì sí.

òjò ná gbẹ̀ ẹmi wa kuro ni bi ogun, a bẹ sìnú rẹ

a sì kọ orin ìyìn àwọn oku wa, bi eni wipè wọn wù jàdé ninu ilẹ̀.

irú kan náà ni ìròyìn ẹrún ati àwọn tó bá ogun lọ,

a má ń kọ orin arò wọn títí ewé à fi yi awọ̀ padà.

gbogbo ìgbà tí mo dúró láti ya àwòrán,

mo mọn rí ojú àwọn ọmọobìrin tí a pàdánù ni ojú ẹ̀rọ àwòrán.

gbogbo òwúrọ̀ tí mo bá jí pèlu ila túntún ni ìwájù òrí mi,

á má rán mi létí bi àwọn ewé mustard ṣe pàdánu òdòdó wọn.

fún àmì òun ti a lè gbàgbé,

mo dá òrùn lẹ́bi fún àwọn òdòdó wa tó rẹ́.

Colony on Water

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If I jump off the ship, it’ll be lonely to

forever remain in the belly of a shark.

Eagles drenched in the rain would fly when it stopped.

Everything could be lost in water, even memory.

The rain distracts us from the war, we jumped in

and sang praises of our dead, as if that will make them grow from the soil.

Fall and soldiers share a similar attribute,

their praises only lasted until the leaves change color.

Anytime I pose for a photograph,

its everyone of our missing daughters looking into the lenses

I wake up each day with wrinkles on my forehead,

it reminds me of how mustards lose their petals.

As the collection of symptoms for what we may forget,

I blame the sun for all our dying flowers.