Impatience Poem by Timothy Faboade

MUSE

Impatience is a living Being
Sometimes he is a throneless King
And controls madly other beings
Who his tuneless musics sing.

Long ago, there lived a man,
Farming thrived in his clan
In this he found himself a name
For in his huts yams were lame.

One morning he on his bed rose
Perceiving roasted yam in his nose,
He summoned his two jolly friends
Who he vowed not to anyone lend.

Towards the farm he got his way
Boasting to make best of the day,
He went to make the land for May
Despite his muscle that's gray.

He on a dwarf hanged his cap
Letting the duo have a nice nap
While he with cutlass and hoe
Began the day's beautiful show.

Two thousand ridges made his aim
Among his peers this feat he did claim
And binding by no health law,
He prided to walk and work more.

The sun rose and set on his head,
From head to toe was a river of sweat,
Obeying orders of his hands,
The two friends bite the lands.

Thirsty, from the river he got water
Ah! Behold the agile aged mortal!
Unto him the birds built an altar
For they thought he couldn't falter.

After a thousand he lost the count
Though enjoying the raw wild sound
That kept his lone listless company,
This, Muse, is, to poets, quite funny.

The Night beat loudly its first gongs
All creatures began night songs
While towards their homes they plod'd
Leaving him behind with a nice nod.

The second echoed in a dark voice
This mixed with moan of his groins,
The two friends were ready to retire,
Can a day work make an empire?

To the calls he gave some deaf ears
Saying the Dark wasn't that near.
How lofty could human desires be?
In bondage he thought he was free.

Many a time he dared mild Nature
All in the name of his high venture,
He saw the Sun roosting in the West,
Yet, he was hell-bent on his quest.

Aim got, he prepared for home,
The aftermath formed the tome,
Which though folly it may seem,
Its witty end you'll soon deem.

'Where is my beaded brown cap? '
He asked while studying the land map.
' Where is my fortune-taking cap? '
His voice echoed, costing trees sap.

He climbed trees, worried resting leaves
To the lost cap his heart cleaved,
' Birds, trees, insects, hear my voice,
The kingly-made cap isn't your choice! '

They all grudged against his words
For they weren't for his proud world.
Muse! How do the underrated think
When man in impatience kingly sink?

'Oh! You ridges! You're never exempted!
And, listen, tonight I'm really tempted
All of you I'll in a jiffy disembowel
And take my cap in you with no trowel.'

Flat all the tall ridges lied,
Yet the costly cap he couldn't find,
The more he was worried in mind,
Like with the cap he wad tied.

With its might Night had arrived,
Could his heavy heart be rived,
He would, just for the missing jewel,
'Cos for it he could be in a duel.


He sank into a bank of tears
He wailed and poorly mourned
He torn his cloudy heart for a mere,
And in a hurry wasted the Bourne.

When the bank dried, his eyes opened
Ah! He stumbled on the deaf dwarf,
His ribs as a result got broken
Because he hurried to unhook the cap and dwarf.