If death cometh my way upon my last breath
I will surely say to thee 'today is not my day'
If he wraps his horrid bony fingers round my neck
In an ensued deathly act I will indeed say
'Cometh to me a yearly round, I'll be sat upon
My stragglers chair'
And if so God himself cometh for thy spirit
I'll hasten to the second day at which I'll refuge
Under heavens door
For so God help me I will be irredeemable, a sentinel
Set upon a dreaded journey, a soul that weighs a blacksmiths
Anvil
If I fail this dreary trek may the angels let my
Weary soul rest, may I not see light at deaths door
And if so I will quarrel with thy orb of glare
So I will say to thy Allah of the earth'Thee see
That my soul bound to me? anchored to my
Corpse yet not ready to depart the harbors of thy sea?
Avaunt! as for this day is not my tickets way'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem