It's the day of fate, mee;
The world is ending soon, mee.
Tied down I've been for days with no hope,
With deathophobia I've had to cope-
I've seen the Alfa gone to Yildee in a white coat,
And I know it's soon up to me, his he-goat.
With his prayers, will he never be slow;
For quickly the festive spirit should take its flow.
Farewell to Amina, Bastira, Rukayat, and co
they made an he-goat of me, those she-goats.
I wish I had one here to console
With her lovely mee going to my soul.
It's too late, oh the Alfa come
with a new knife brandishing
That, sure, is meant for my slaughtering.
Indeed all deaths are brutal,
But compared with Augustine who died by a Boko Haram bomb, this sure is less brutal.
And what Alfa starts on my neck with a Bismilahi,
I'll be gone before he concludes in an Al Am dulilah.
While you eat me in the almighty name of Allah,
I wish you, however, Barka de Sarla

Hmmmmm wat a nice poem u tried