Òru, firmly adjudged as the cocoon of numerous evils
The facade of men whose tool of trades are rifles

Òru, dark and stern, pregnant with uncertainties
An avenue for the flying mothers to do and undo

Òru, to liaise with you, I have mounted this pinnacle
Heavy words tucked in my belly like I férakù.

Òru, in you lies the greatest power of reflection
Which I dare you to provoke on my behalf

Òru, among men, your integrity dwindles
To succeed, mothers warn wards not to deal in/with you
How so Òru, that treading you is exclusive to Ìjàkùmòs among men?
And that despite your beauty, a man of noble birth would eschew you for Òsán?

Òru, why have men forgotten that the hatched eggs of success were laid in you?
And that dreamers ignore sleep to exploit you for noble cause
Pardon us- that we tag you evil because of your dark outfit
And that we ignore the nectar yielded by the stinging bee

Òru- I have come visiting you just for a whisper
Tell me, why do men judge just by the outlook?

Hmmm...!
Esp., 'ago meta oru'