The Arts-Muse Fair

            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

The  sound and fury  of Silence  Or Is Sheikh Shakespeare? Introduction Before he was forced to commit suicide in 399 BC for impiety and corrupting the youth, Socrates reminded his accusers that, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” 2. Sheikh Umar Dada Paiko seems to have reached the same conclusion in  aphthongs , his first poetry collection. It is a finely crafted work, part warning, part epitaph.  3. The book looks at our lust for life, the lies and illusions and vanities we pursue with such vigor and how they attenuate our vision, and concludes that we are on the path to perdition.  4. I am immediately reminded of Shakespheare’s Macbeth in that famous soliloquy over the death of his wife, the infamous, irredeemable Lady Macbeth, when he said, all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death.  Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by

Pic: Aminu S Muhammad December 31st, 2008 was the last time I ever went to a joint, club or bar.  That day, I had joined three of my childhood friends to  Impression,  a popular joint in Kubwa where I had bitten more than I could chew. I am not really a ‘beer person’ but I do enjoy the fellowship of my friends. I am always on the drinking table with them, in the name of brotherhood.    “Relax man. You don't need to drink beer, but we don't want minerals or malt on this table.” Santos, our ringleader told me. “We are big boys and we have to appear as such. You can at least take  Smirnoff.  It is softer than any soft drink you can think of. ”  He added as he signaled to the barman who re-appeared a few minutes later with four cans of  Smirnoff  which he placed before me. I took the challenge and before you could say, Jack Robinson, I had downed all four cans and requested for more.  “Na wetin una for don tell me before be dis. No be to dey force me drink alcohol.

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.  

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