The Arts-Muse Fair

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad THE RIVER SONG The river song lifts the hoarfrost off a shadow its melody bends water around jagged rocks- like boulder, like mountain, like stone, like sarsen, reach a sprightly bunch of near green shoots to let there be light and water kiss dawn, while fingers interlock to crown hope. There will be eloquent regards; where palm meets palm tracing fear that can curve a mind into something else But we will not take–up the stupidity of the broken we carry peace and truth on chapped lips forgiveness falls out of our gorges , wrapped in laughter so we do not choke here Our tongues spool into balls of fire with the message of healing. Let the river-bird cluck a new day into animation enshroud dark moons in a moment, until it bleeds peace Earth moon, erupting with elation like a new mother like morning, like song, like river, like forever. We wear our conscience on our sleeves, we are bare like truth this tune

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad BETRAYAL The heart betrays, pretends to be stoic in its unfailing rhythms, yet reduces to inchoate stutters at the smell of perfume. Alien may be signature scent, but this heart falters at the memory of how you define and own this Thiery Muggler creation. The nose is accomplice here, deciphering the scent's various components, perfume, alcohol, an 'other' smell; the indelible scent of you. the nose betrays at the aroma of food too... Afang, spliced with Cameroon pepper or Nsukka yellow, and heavy helpings of periwinkles and dry catfish, escorted with baby-bum-smooth fufu. Achi-thickened Oha, sweetened with a slight splash of mfangadusa, but no ogiri. This nose perceives you instead of Abak Atama, spread lavishly, on soft rice. All with just a bit too much salt – the way you like it. In this, the mouth is accomplice too, attempting to acquire your tastes in your absence, smiling that sardon

            A BALLAD FOR NAREHET There was a time Sweet, sweat time Water turning into wine Spring aborting life Tame and shy There was a time of a shadow and a cross hanging across the road on a bed of nails And so Sybil said: "EineWahrheit, ein Land, einGott!" and we died like dogs "Beautiful dogs!" trying to understand and stand under the regime of middle-aged Gods while nervously sucking rotten milk from Madonna's breasts When we took the sandy path the swarm was beyond Caronte flowing into the heart of darkness into the inferno like a muddy river of sperm mixing with the salty Mediterraneo Among oil stains and fish we swam ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TRAIN TRACKS In the beginning was the Word That ripped the silence with violence; My beginning is screaming with my end Echoed among crossroads of alleys The shades of me Lie in fragments and await Like an agonizing patie

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad We are trees With leaves that leave Whether seasons beckons Or not We are trees Stretching to the sun In search of chlorophyll For most leaves Are vain and restless We are trees Some floral and full Some scanty and frail And at each dawn We expect the rain We are trees Sown in different soils Some loam, porous or adhesive But then we grow And spread warmth and tranquillity We are trees With contours Deep, permanent or shallow We are trees Trying to love ourselves And to pave paths For what we fruits we birth Or love we spread, like roots. *** Zainab Manko is a Chemical Engineer, Writer, and Fashion Designer. An adventurer and a carefree butterfly, she is shy in her own way and loves deep thinking.