Epistle From Death Poem by Chukwuebuka Adebayo

Though, you may fret that I tarry
But death held me down, Pardon!
Like a wounded beast, He's angry
As I wore no breastplate nor Iron
Myself, Was afraid of his boiling rage,
Yet I begged and he gave this page
(6)
Bid everyone, To soon pay a visit
To very last consonants of my words;
Tell men to enjoy their brief feasts,
What they pine for, Tomorrow becomes bywords
That Life's but a sigh, A breath,
Refer them, This epistle from I, death!
(12)
Can men be compared with anything?
Nothing but a drop of mixed-sperm,
Even if they are barleys, Roses-budding
Still, The same fate awaits them
All from dust, All returns to dust,
And as vapour, All begone, All lost
(18)
Then mankind, Which meaning is life?
The distraught, Whenlife worries about itself
Life! A madman that turns mirths to strife
With every wealths man hoards to himself,
What contentment gives earthly tastes,
When all these do decay, Everything wastes
(24)
Magical acts confounds, By evil charms
Seeing an elephant from a hat disappears,
Pleases the eyes, A trick full of shams;
As night-moon goes, never in morn reappears
So is goodies of Life, Short and fleeting
Like fair wanton, Temptingand teasing
(30)
Hark, Hark, Heed a wise man's sayings
That the deeds of life are grievous,
And a fool is proud of his hiddings;
This is awful and It's also perilous,
If, His life is asked on a whim
None is most miserable but him!
(36)
Whosoever sings a frivolous song,
His ears too listen, To its clangorous noise
Anyone who does evil knows, It's wrong
Yet awaits whom to satirize him, So he poise
Since none can reveal your mucky depths,
Take this scorn, It's an epistle from death!
(42)
Which monkey can leap traps like our leaders?
They enacts, themselves infringes the laws
When widows profanes, they be their executioners
If you errs, Who would check your flaws?
But death's coming, To pluck you down nave,
And make your home a cleft of grave
(48)
He that obeys statues is not harmed,
I have conceded everything to be meaningless
Like toy built of clay, crushes if crammed
So are men, Weak, brittle, So firmless
Cry of his name in his bounty field,
When he's gone, but none would yield
(54)
O head of goverment, head of states
The headmen, Jury, Our knights
Whom do tour overseas and overstates,
Farewell, Farewell, Man upon the Zenith
That seat is as frail as dry-twigs,
Once it breaks, All birds to sky, swings
(60)
Then said you, Elders gob smelt as swines
This be another toddler singing berths,
Even it's witless and lack rhymes,
But heed to this epistle from death;
If my requite is thanks and that's all
My wish is greater, Though gift's small
(66)