Yoruba n ronu
In the twilight of days,
When all things had been wrongly place.
And our ancestors are angry in their grave,
Till overwhelming without making a change.
Deep down in our custom elders,
Ruminating miserably on our herculean task,
but resulting to sighs rather than solutions.
The sigh over our misdesire,
The sigh over our misconstrued,
And sigh over our misdemeanor.
Wailing and complaint no longer cease.
Until dusk when some souls had gone to sleep.
In order not to share from the scarcity of peace.
But with their assurance of resting where there's no strife and conflict.
And when scholars of religion, Consulting the god of our fathers
Warning us rather than pleading
over our borrowed lifestyle that's
forbidden-
And complicated rather than fascinating.
But all remedy seems to no avail
After all our abiding couldn't be appraised.
We continued singing our sorrowful praise.
'no longer at peace'
'no longer at ease.'
But for the one loved by the supreme God.
Will never shared from an insufficient peace.
But rejoice every day by day,
In his everlasting love
That he has given unto us,
Which we have refused to heed.