By Nwachukwu Merit Chigozie 5 months ago

to im shakara bebe


- if to say we get all the world and time,

-this your shakara, missus, no be ish at all,

-we go siddon reason our level so,

-to Waka this our love Mata so,

-whether na by Indian ganges o,

-abi ogbonge stone hold me for river side,

-i no go complain. Me ma go,

-love you ten years before everywhere burst water

-if you too like, dey deny me

-untilli Jesus family accept am

-my love wey be like ugwu go grow

-pass Benin, Oya and Egba kingdom-tor;

-i fit use bokuu years swell your head with hailing so

Just look your eye and wisdom room;

Two hundred years lavish your blessed bobby,

Con give thirty k to the remaining;

Carry years take look every part

The last age go microscope your heart

You worth all the earth join

I no fit fall your hand

-but ehn, e no too far when I hear

-where agogo wan outshine me

-For our front yapa so

-Dry land wen man no fit calculate

-all your fine go vanish,

-E no go still sound inside coffin,

-This ma chyking, na worms go settle

-Your tear-rubber wey never wack so

-Those things wen you keep, na dust go chop am,

-All the want wen I want go just dey like ashes,

-Grave na smooth and quiet place,

-But nobody dey wan hug am.

-As you still dey shine now,

-When your skin dey shine like morning foam,

-And wen your mind still dey,

-Babe, make we gbensh as body kakaraka so,

-Like birds wey body dey totori,

-Kpakpa we loud am now now,

-Than to dey siddon dey look.

-Make we join forces together,

-Our sweetness smash together,

-Make we tear the bole middle wey sweet pass,

-Pass the security life tanda so:

-Las Las we no fit make our sun,

-Dey one place, finally we go send am on errand.


Arranged by MCN and Esemuede Cynthia. 


Read the original poem below:


To His Coy Mistress 


Had we but world enough and time,

This coyness, lady, were no crime.

We would sit down, and think which way

To walk, and pass our long love’s day.

Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side

Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide

Of Humber would complain. I would

Love you ten years before the flood,

And you should, if you please, refuse

Till the conversion of the Jews.

My vegetable love should grow

Vaster than empires and more slow;

An hundred years should go to praise

Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;

Two hundred to adore each breast,

But thirty thousand to the rest;

An age at least to every part,

And the last age should show your heart.

For, lady, you deserve this state,

Nor would I love at lower rate.

       But at my back I always hear

Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;

And yonder all before us lie

Deserts of vast eternity.

Thy beauty shall no more be found;

Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound

My echoing song; then worms shall try

That long-preserved virginity,

And your quaint honour turn to dust,

And into ashes all my lust;

The grave’s a fine and private place,

But none, I think, do there embrace.

       Now therefore, while the youthful hue

Sits on thy skin like morning dew,

And while thy willing soul transpires

At every pore with instant fires,

Now let us sport us while we may,

And now, like amorous birds of prey,

Rather at once our time devour

Than languish in his slow-chapped power.

Let us roll all our strength and all

Our sweetness up into one ball,

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Through the iron gates of life:

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

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