This to the tyrant called time;
Hope you'll pause to read this rhyme,
and come to dine at my banquet table;
Garnished with wine, beef and vegetable.
I have slaughtered my healthiest cow
and to lure you to my party, I know not how.
I have brewed a brand new wine,
to merry your soul; my dear time.
But your winged feet will not cease to flap,
and you are always ahead to fall into a trap.
Won't you then, rest but for a while?
while I give you my wife to treat you to smile.
But your ears are deaf to hear my fears,
and your eyes are too blind to behold my tears.
When shall you arrive at your desire?
and make my garden a home, and come to retire.
Oh! My dear time- though you're not dear
Must I die now? - though I cannot dare.
I shall keep up at my chest,
to live unfailingly to my uttermost best.
This is to you, the tyrant called time,
hope you'll pause to read this rhyme.
But if you won't, I shall not stop,
to walk my hands to the uttermost top.
David O. Olusanya
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem