Nâko/By: Rabindranath Tagore
Oras nabala piuta nbi ho ‘nimam nanan, Usî.
Nenô ma fai nfinin ma oras namfau nasuin
ma nmaknenê onlê hausufâ.
Ho muhín he mpao onmé.
Hit ka tít fa oras he tanekun,
ma fun ka tmuî fa oras hit musti tasík
he tapein taubsonâ.
Hit a-tmâmuî tâsek’ok he tanekun oras.
tomas au ‘fê ani neu amatoes es-es lê nasikan,
ma ho altár luman, ka nok fa ‘tulû a-npoinfin.
Lekâ neno namsoup au ‘manáp
fun umtau ho nesu maëkâ;
me au upein ak oras fê esan.
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Time is endless in thy hands, my lord.
There is none to count thy minutes.
Days and nights pass and ages bloom
and fade like flowers.
Thou knowest how to wait.
Thy centuries follow each other
perfecting a small wild flower.
We have no time to lose,
and having no time we must scramble
for a chance.
We are too poor to be late.
And thus it is that time goes by
while I give it to every querulous man who claims it,
and thine altar is empty of all offerings to the last.
At the end of the day I hasten in fear
lest thy gate be shut;
but I find that yet there is time.
Translated into Dawan by Yohanes Manhitu.