Poet-Today | Muhammad Isa Gaude | The Arts-Muse Fair


Plethora of voices beckon me forth
A tempting tone to keep me in
I fidgeted along the dainty trail
Wincing in pain, sloppy trail
It was rugged, blood-smeared and fluid
A rough conquest of my inner peace

I saw the sign that the men can fight
A terror trait in faith and gait
They are men so daft, so dank in head
Walking so deft with bloodshot eyes
A hateful sight, a sight of woe
My rumbling heart prayed for inner peace

What could they have done
If I was boxed into the master plan?
What could I have said to the race
If my skinny calves had ruptured?
It was a run for dear life
Perhaps each soul scrambles for inner peace

Shall I be set for a new world war?
To ruin the heathens and godless men
Chastising the domiciles of godly men
Let’s break their dripping icicles
And sink their sailing ships
Let’s raise our flag, a totem of inner peace

In ember of thirst they burnt       
Looking farther above sandy dunes
To transcend into the ancient voices
In the windmill of hope
Their voices rang
Protruding bare their low jaws
The bones of thirst
Those bones of want
Their mouths are gagged
With rags of milky pelts
Eyeballs of woe
Those eyes that fade
What manner their hips!
What a show of shame!
Those bulging eyes of utter terror

Folks of shattered resurrecting dreams
Those phoenixes resurrecting
From dungeons dark
Dragging feet on tailored chains
How tailored their dreams!
By maestro hooting evil
The folks that swerve with
Daunting rhythm
The folks of raid
Those chiefs that maim

Throttled to ruins
In mangled chains
Ever in ruins from torso to brain
The earth seems harsh to manacled men
They live in want and die in need
Such are men of thirst
Those men in ruins


Muhammad Isa Gaude, a Quantity Surveyor is the President of Gombe Jewel Writers Association.