Life, you old haughty horse,
a savage stallion without remorse.
Will you not wait awhile and be calm,
at the sedative stroke of my palm?
My eyes are drenched with dreams,
to ride you to the spring of streams;
Where peace pelts and flows,
as the west wind blows.
But you whip me with your tail,
like a fly, so feeble and frail.
You are too brute for the bridle,
nor succumb to the tamer's riddle.
So starved is my dream, to saddle your spine,
and make you but all of mine.
Life; grant me a ravishing ride
and make your arrogance my pride.
You old haughty horse,
savage stallion without remorse.
When will you wait and be calm,
at the soothing stroke of my palm?
David O. Olusanya
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem