The Arts-Muse Fair

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad GENESIS in the beginning there was music of moaning and of a creaking bed his lips quivered not with fever but with minty words her lids slid shut not in sleep but in daydream there was light from the mercury-vapoured lamp coating the sparsely furnished room in a blue film                  in the beginning I was there on that creation night crouching at the edge of the room aghast as I watched the duo spin the potter’s wheel mixing water and clay moulding me into being LIVING ON AS DUST because you loved to sprawl and roll on lawns   to kiss the grasses’ fresh lips and stroke their dewy limbs I demurred when they made to box you and to dump you six feet under the ground because I recalled the night we kissed by the campfire just before you marched out to war how your eyes glowed with the live coals as though you desired a swim in a lake of fire till your cells fluoresced

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad I STAND Here I stand in the secret place of my emotions under the shadow of my thoughts wondering: when are we going to enjoy the promises promised by these promiscuous politicians? Grey hair, married to the seat of power Yet, claiming we're leaders of tomorrow, but, when really is tomorrow if the labours of our heroes past seem to carry last these days? Today is the tomorrow we waited for yesterday like a watchman waiting for another day; We've been positioned to write night test with bloody ink putting us up to sit and think - CHANGE: truly a constant in life's equation. But, how do we fight this frustration forming fuming fuse of hatred and religion? We get started from the beginning like *Dó ré mí* scoring spitted words the way it should be; discarding sounds of silence buried in voices of audible men For "we begin to die when we remain silent to things that matter" Martin Luth

''ITELE'' To the dusk whose sun, refuse to set while mystery clouds embrace it's vest. When faint lines with dazzling stars come bold to stand amidst the amphora's arm while shelves without books, shed ignorance with their dusty eyes they will see your rays Even dark clouds that trail your kerb to sink her casted shadows on your moonwalk steps, will see your rays. I   Y A   M   I      A   J   E This fallen breast Raised thousand clans The pains which danced around My little waist brought your fathers to life Your Ancestry is written With wrinkles on my forehead And your history is sketched On my simian line I was, before darkness I was, before light I waited for the birth of moonlight And I witnessed my shadow's death But forget this not That you share my strength For your umbilical cord Ties us abound one path And your generations shall Pay tributes to Osun

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad Of Trust Betrayed Sons of Jezebel! With honey tongues On first attempt Beckon to the gatekeepers To worship at the sacred grooves Patient and sly in their supplications Victims become relics of their worship I See Her Not knowing Not seeing Yet I see her In dreamland Endless lush green meadow Stretched beyond reach Son of the Wind You howled the hurricane To the threshold of locked-up desire You unlatched the Safe treasure Stored up On the fringe of pledged loyalty With thy tsunamic strength You left adrift the daughter of the sun Arise you must From the darkened sky Breathe thy fertileness on the Fringes of sterile sky Undo the strength of the wind Shine forth thy blazing flame Untamed He untamed The beast of passion He floats by every curvaceous body He untamed The volcanic passion Treading through forbidden magmas To a mass treasure of forbidden laurels

There are no 53 Suns There are 53 landmarks that breach Our brotherhood Stretches of tongues that collude against us We bear the brunt of justified rape jalloping through the desert We whiplash the whips cramming us at the docks We are told that things have changed With the handshake of schools, mosques, odd men Who have displaced our kings. We are baptised new names that bear the signature of Greco-roman tales and Mesopotamian corruption so The world can be one 'civil' whole. A child that loses his name, his language and the Ways of his ancestors is lost Kidnapped to return to rule without a heart Looking down at his minions with a brutal eye Hearing the truth as the voice of dissent. Prisons are filled to the brim, we are trying to salvage Like buckets, Waging war against the flood. As long as men dream They can look at the tropical sun and dance Into the night As long as women tell tales Children will ask those questions that take us b

                                               This                                            weather                                        is an assassin.                                            a wild teen                                      who has caged the                                      frail old air and now                                   bullies me into taking my                           bathtub to be my dearly not beloved                       nanny. This weather is an assassin. It is a                 mountain that urges me to climb her. To climb her.         To climb her. But does not equip me with the climbing tools.   This weather is an assassin. This weather is an assassin. This weather... Dele The stretch marks from My scars Are now what you treasure But I still can't look At them squarely. So, Let me see them through Your eyes And learn to see me As us. Bamidele                     You have, to me