Poem by Francis Ogu


I can’t forget Sioux Falls airport yes I can’t

First day and first night in America

The more I look the less I see

What could this be, my eyes fixed on the glass

Ah! Could this be salt or what? 

Americans are rich in salt.


My father’s wife makes her meals with salt            

Its colour has never changed from white      

Yes this is salt, is very white and in trendy                    

Often found in the kitchen, there his hut is.      

Is always precious to them that cook                  

My thought and myself.


Oh! I said no wonder Americans are white                          

No need to buy salt oh my father’s wife          

Soon I shall send many salts to you                                         

Why waste this salts, can’t it be sold?                

Are you been ruled by myopic people?            

My thought and myself.


Behold the man; yes he is Wilson kubwayo  

“Bro, welcome to America” he said with smiles  

I was so curious to leave the airport why?          

I want to pack and play too with the salt          

How optimistic I was that this is salt.                                                                    

My thoughts and myself.


The tale changed, as rapid as i felt the cold wind.                                                            

Wilson kept speaking bro have you seen snow before?

No! I said, there and then he gave me His first gift.                                                             

Bro this is snow he poured the snow on my hands                                                              

Oh! My eyes and thoughts have deceived me.                                                                                

My thought and myself.


So cold it was, yes very very.                                              

It was melting like wax                                                      

I wanted to run but to where how will I know?                  

I was still thinking, only in airport there is snow          

We drove off, goodbye airport of snow I said                                                                          

Cold all over me, my thought was killed.


This is how my salt turned to my snow                   

Little wonder the snow penetrates me so much                                                              

I took it to be salt; the snow gives me hard knocks                                                          

Despite all the jackets Wilson bought for me          

Yet the snow refuses to be merciful to me            

Oh! I am so sorry snow, never will I call you salt anymore.

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