The Arts-Muse Fair

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad Home Blues  The storms that captured our homeland announced no preface  From every cloud Only torn narratives we gain   Now There are no gravities for postscripts Stranger  Stranger, The Past should not be a portal  She is a pariah Take my sins to the cemetery There they should abide  Pose them to the world  And unleash every Blue That lived That is living  That will be living  State of the Heart I am a cloud  Death is my fruit  The grin I grin hides the earth of the grief And only in the heart you can see the grief  You can't voyeur at the heart Don't zoom my earth to your heart  I know my earth is walking through shards I know there are dungeon hiding the heights of its gaits It is the nakedness of time at the earth square  Time lives no storm alive They say the night loves my tears They say tomorrow is in throe...

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad Japanese language petals hover river flows and drains On the tea cup nankeen trickles cicada sings monk’s semblance rustle of trees Letter for a Kurd Roj Light cloaks the flowers in the wind, even in the silence, tell to souls it message lethargy doesn’t tell to your dragged and tomb soul on the cross of your sword ear the valley of the dead from far away in the garden, a drop after rain in the sun of your glance şev Esman, stêr, mang. Taught me: sky, star and moon the poetry shows us our illiteracy, said while seeing the stars who don’t know to read the night, couldn’t read himself sounds in the head fade away on an infinite remembrance each time clangs on an insistence to breath             sleepless do it:                         ...

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...