WHEN I WAS A CHILD...

He did wrong.
For that moment, he had gone stubborn.
And when mother scolded him.
He cried;
The wailing echoed in the walls of mother’s heart.
He cried;
And the tears stained his face.
And even though, the pain was still eating his flesh.
He raced graciously into mother’s arms.
Then mother opened her arms wide in reception.
And hugged her son.
Cuddled him in her warmth.
And kissed him on the forehead.
Despite the war that erupted between them.
There was a strong bond that intertwined their destinies.
A strong connection that is beyond blood and genes.
The bond between a mother and a child…

A GLIMPSE OF DEATH

It was gentle night; the breeze explained everything as I lay on my bed trying to comprehend all the figures and formulas in my engineering thermodynamics handout. I am the nocturnal type; I spend most of the time in the night reading rather than sleeping. Well, it is much easier an effort whenever I have a hot Lipton tea by my side. As usual, it was midnight and I was in my books. This time around, things didn’t go on well as after a while I could hear nature calling out for me; I was reluctant to respond. I taught I could play cunning as I stubbornly tried not to succumb to sleep, my eyelids were so heavy, I would probably say it felt like pianos were sitting on them. They struggled against slumber but nature did prove me wrong. I slipped into trance in a flash, unnoticed. It wasn’t like I was awake and it wasn’t a dream either, it was something in the middle. I found myself in a world I have never imagined; my body lay hopelessly on the floor, void of life. It seemed as if a black wall separated my soul from my body. I couldn’t move; my soul struggled to find its way back to the human body. At that moment, even time was petrified by the spectacle, as it budged into a slow pace and I could hear its ticking sound as the bold stumping sound of the African elephant. If I could steal a chance, I would tell the world Einstein was right – indeed, time is relative to the observer. As my heart abnormally beat like funeral drums, so did my time on earth count down like a time bomb – it was defined. Mother kept on calling out my name in the Dagbani dialect, “Nazif, wake up, Nazif wake up!!!, please wake up!!!, don’t do this to me” her shrill voice accentuating the degree of her anxiety. She tried to exterminate the despair that lived in her fears and rather feed the flames that would ignite her hope that her only son was still alive. I wished I could at least hold her by the hand and confess “Mama, I am dead, I am gone, please tell the world that God is alive” but I was robbed of speech, so numb, if not, worse than a deserted log - totally lifeless. I was caught in a war between two completely distinct realms, the thrilled voices of my blood lineage were now fading away into resounding echoes – I could barely hear them as their mouths screamed out my name. It was a ‘magic’ moment; the life of this material world was giving way for the other as it helplessly stood by the hallway and watched as I was been whisked away. Dirges played in the background and the entire atmosphere lacked even a whiff of life. I conceived the best of my moments, of my family and peers – I didn’t forget, I couldn’t forget. I had limited time, so I quickly flip through those great moments as if I was revising for a biology exam. And when I saw that perfect picture of mother and me on my eighth birthday, my eyes were a flood of tears and I would cry a river; if only I had tears, if only I had eyes by then. I felt like jumping out of the timeline but I am sure death flexed a grin after reading that thought because that was so impossible for the lad. If only I had a second chance. “O’ Lord, please spare me another chance” I cried out to the King, my faint voice tried to beckon the ears of the heavens. I was still very young, I hadn’t fulfilled my noble promises I made to this world and my Allah. More to the point, I didn’t want to hatch a pinch of thought about the state of mother after I lay six feet down the dust, mother? I don’t know how life would mean to her afterwards, and my dad, I was going to miss my best pal. “The good die very young”, I know, but I couldn’t tell my fate, my destination was a vague question in my mind. If I was perfectly assured that I would reside in heaven, in gardens where honey was a river, hard liquor overthrown by the purest of wines and more importantly where death was no more. “O’ Lord, give me another chance. Let me live. I promise I would voice this out to the world. I will let my friends know that life is but an insignificant dimension.” After uttering my last words, I just imagined how my roommates would wake up to the rising sun to meet a still Naz who was probably skipping a lecture in bed. I know that, after some minutes of fruitless efforts to wake me up, “He’s just playing dead” I bet that’s the first thought of anticipation that would echoe in the room of their ignorant brains. “Never miss, Sunday church service” that would be the parable I would preach to them, if I bargained with time for at least a Pico second. Just as I relinquished the hope that I would meet the next morning, I recapitulated – travelled through time, back to my birth date but yet, struggled to tell my death date. How sad? The only thing left on the menu was the arrival of the Angel of death, to execute his usual time-stringent duty - to strip me off my mortal soul. My greatest fear is death, well, it was just a few seconds away, I have never been scared in my life not until this moment. It all happened when I was whiling away time with these heart stabbing emotions, swoosh!!!, I gushed out of sleep like the fresh water of the springs. My eyelids slipped open and I could see the four corners of my room, and my roommates, as they comfortably lay in their beds still in slumber. If the statement ‘believing in this situation’ was a man, then I promise I had never seen him, the real world now seemed like a dream, but it wasn’t; God heard my cry, wiped my tears and gave me a second chance, Alhamdulillah my heart spoke. I wept, the tears stained my heart. I stole a quick glance at time, it all happened in a couple of minutes, how quaint? I lay on my bed and fixed my gaze on the ceiling, whiles my mind was absent trying to understand where I went and why I was still here, but it was too complicated. How useless I was a few minutes ago, how useless the Homo sapiens species were without their souls. And today, I confess that we are all nothing worthy of mentioning without God. Ikhlas, the verse of the Holy Quran that expatiates the oneness of God, I prayed and till now, it is as fresh as the morning dew in my memory - a favourite verse. This moment will forever remain in my memory, I have been saved and transformed. I don’t know what to say, I have had a glimpse of death. We may have fun in this world but I promise it is a scary realm out there. Let’s seek happiness in this world and the hereafter. The world needs change…

SOMETIMES... WHEN I AM ALONE

When I am alone.
Everything is still but silence.
Perfect timing, my thoughts come to life.
Emotions that lingered in refuge wake up and free themselves.
Flashback memories flip like a slide-show.
The pain is prevalent;
There is war burning down the peace everywhere.
Fueled by politics, money, fame and power.
A ravenous infection. Is slaying one another the antidote?
Even with everything, we’ll go to the grave with nothing.
Are we that forgetful? That we are all sons of Adam and daughters of Eve?
The newspaper read “Man beheads boy for money rituals”.
Stories like these can reduce the sincerest bravest of men surrender to tears.

When I am alone.
I just don’t get it.
“Home sweet home”
But sometimes, it tastes not less than gall.
Should even blood relations hold grudges?
We promise each other heavily at the feet of the mountain.
But when we reach the summit, we catch amnesia.
O’ God who else should I trust anymore?
Now that I see these shattered pieces of trust sleeping on the floor.
Kids are starving, striving for an ort.
Elsewhere, money is flying off and sleeping on the dance-floor.
Where’s the sympathy?
At times, I feel weak when I conceal the truth.

When I am alone.
I just don’t get it.
Those who deserve love are the ones served with hurt.
Whom who worked hardest, earned the least, left in the lurch.
These mysterious thoughts are the knots engulfing my neurons.
Loneliness is a poet’s best quill.
Emotions and thoughts are dumb and deaf, but a pen never is.
When it can’t stand agony, it squirts sentiments.
And before it falls asleep, I now seem to get everything.
The Verses of the Quran unweaves all these cryptic tendencies.
Then I reveal a faint smile…”God is perfect
And He promises the best of days” my brain says.
When I am alone…God is with me.
And I know, He’d never leave us alone.

SHATTERED DREAMS

He was a lad, one whom was bright.
Born in the corn fields with a transfixed first sight.
Still, rigidly locked unto the sky.
As years renewed, but for night cometh, he'd admire the birds fly.
How alluring to him, the fashion of their flight.
Thereupon He fell in love, always passionately flying a kite.
Under the harsh sun rays, behind fences, there he stood waiting to steal a glance.
At airplanes hurryng off the runway, springing into turbulence.
Verily, it inscribed a smile on a young fresh visage.
A dream dreamt long to sit behind the cockpit of a flying machine.
"At the least, i shoud afford a joyride behind a passenger seat" he wished.
To soar high, amongst the floridly adorned clouds.
Afloat, riding the turbulence and focusing his gaze at the beauty of nature crafted by God.
But, at a second thought, the ambition would always stall.
And he plummeted from his aspirations.
Despair loomed, patiently snatching remnants of hope.
The broad smile that once brightened evaporated and left gloom.
His dreams were shattered; nay, it was no fault of the young lad.
Father and mother hassled to provide sustenance.
In penury, the family were denizens.
How would he make it to flight school?
or the least, a plane ticket but by God?
A that trice, impossible was a feeling well understood than word.
His dreams rendered aphotic.
But I reckon, the world could have kidnled a torch.
To illuminate the path of his dream to success.
Many chaps today wear the same shoes.
And yea, someone can kindle a torch, and make their dreams a reality...
...Be a hero, wake someone up and help make their dream a reality.!

SOUL TRAIN

Fresh page, my pen relates the odyssey of a soul train.
Life often gives spectacles we can barely explain.
The tears are manifest, like clouds can barely restrain rain.
Doctor, doctor please, the anaesthesia succumbed to the pain.
In the midst of these earthquakes, tsunamis and hurricanes.
Despair emanates but faith restricts complain.
The news now a bare scare, the well-being my heart can barely maintain.
Genocide and homicide painting our walls with blood stains.
Hideous, tainting our memories with indelible stains.
Our hearts are heavy, whereof are the cranes?
Our leaders? they hoard, vague promises, they feign.
What a cruel bargain?
Someone tell me, whereof is the freedom? Tyranny is now shackles and chains.
The spoils of war, gore, mass graves marring our beautiful terrain.

Deep sentiments, my pen relates the expedtiton of a soul train.
The world needs positive change.
Everyone can be a hero, commence a camapign.
There resides a feat in every toil, labour and strain.
Yea, extinguish the scorn, chauvinism and disdain.
Peace in our hearts, peace in the world, we should sustain.
And feed hope, patience and supplications to the sane brain.
Great legacies, pave the way, like neon lights glowing on our lanes.
We are struggling, rowing but tomorrow we will soar like airplanes.
The bravest hearts are ones who free truth bare and plain.
Our prayers beckon the heavens, never to be in vain.
For a day, all the filth of the fiasco would go down the drain.
God will recompense the oppressed, decapitated and the slain.
In lofty mansions, in green gardens on high thrones to rejoice again and again.
As perfectly as God ordained.
My pen goes to sleep, from a voyage of a soul train.

Do they not look at the sky above them? How we have made it and adorned it and there are no flaws in it? And the earth - we have spread it out and set thereon mountains standing firm and produced therein every kind of beautiful growth (in pairs).

QURAN 50: 6 - 7.

QUOTE OF THE DAY.

if today, you pray to God for a gold ring and tomorrow you get a wooden one, then that was the perfect choice.

QUOTE OF THE DAY.

if you have't experienced mistakes and misfortunes, then you haven't learnt anything yet.

QUOTE OF THE DAY.

invest in God and earn more than 100% interest.

QUOTE OF THE DAY.

"i didnt fail the test, I only found out 100 ways how not to go wrong" - BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

QUOTE OF THE DAY.

"In the eyes of destiny, there are no such things as accidents and casualities"

QUOTE OF THE DAY.

"One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind" - NEIL AMSTRONG.

QUOTE OF THE DAY.

"A man who views the world the same at fifty as he did at twenty, has wasted thirty years of his life" - MUHAMMAD ALI.

QUOTE OF THE DAY.

"...Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country" - JOHN F. KENNEDY

CHRONICLES OF LIFE

At that moment of life, he was so high.
He soared in the sky.
Beaming and gleaming.
It was all sail hail.
And many were his whale tail.
He took them, and they followed him like trails.
Like a beautiful comet.
Their sustenance came from his pocket.
All they did was bask in his light.
And he had more friends, some lurked in the night.

Those who seemed nicest only cracked the Mona Lisa smile.
Smiling! What an intricate assignment for them.
The pain was passionate but shrouded, and they still wore the disguise.
In the depths of their hearts, the hate beat along.
Jealousy tore their emotions like a fierce conflagration.
Eyes glowing, green, greener and greenest.
Waiting for the perfect moment that the malice will suffice.
To extinguish his lights, annihilate the greatness.
And reduce him to their level or even worse...

Yea, their wishes came true,
The unfortunate dawned.
He lost his wings.
And he plummets from the heights.
Everybody was there but few hands spread open.
To cushion his fall.
He fell so hard; he couldn’t rise to his feet.
Then afterwards, he crawled while they moved in fleets.
Now, he had few friends, and he did recognize them all.

Now he wallowed in the mud.
Few were sad though with the lad.
Those he could call family, like true blood.
They would help cleanse him.
But some of many rejoiced at his dim.
They trampled on him and bathe him with spits.
Now they were shinning and he craved to bask in the light lit.
But, the best that reached him were only shadows.
Eyes believed but the mind concluded it was an illusion.
The tears made gave him pure vision
And he learnt during this session…
“Men have broken more trust than glasses”

PRAYER OR SLEEP?

Yet again it is dawn.
The loud shrill crows of the rooster broadcasts.
Nay, the harsh sound of the alarm irritates.
The only euphony is the Athan (call to prayer).
As it rains through the city.
It summons towards the end “… come to prayer, come to success”.
My ears can barely hearken.
Really, at this trice, sleep has never been so sweet.
The soul entombed in it at this summit.
The gentle breeze heartens it.
Tired muscles pledge for an excuse.
And the mind says I have gone too deep to rouse.
Nothing is enough to win a bargain against slumber.
But, yet again the Athan proclaims “…prayer is better than sleep, prayer is better than sleep”.
What! It reverberates.
This time, it tickles my ears.
Ignites the least fortitude buried in this clammy spectacle.
The two worlds are before me leaving me in perplexity; sleep or prayer?
Yea, verily, the promise of my lord is true.
And ultimately I should rise to prayer.
Alas, the war is over, I walk to the sink with drowsy eyes.
Dragging my feet in a lethargic rhythm.
Water bathes my skin during ablution.
Cleansing it and rejuvenating divinity.
Buoyantly, my sins would go down the drain.
There, the mat sleeps on the floor while my feet rest on it.
I begin my prayer appreciating my efforts…
That prayer is better than sleep.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

God heals, the doctor takes the fee - BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

A BALLAD...

Once, you lived with us.
The picture album says it all.
But today, the sorrow is manifest.
Your abode, a void.
Now you only live in our memories,
Memories stained with your love, care and compassion.
In our hearts,
Hearts that you’ve created craters with your unforeseen calling.
In our minds,
Bullied with the continual imagination of your departure.
And in our prayers,
That we say relentlessly for the safety of your soul.
So I write this ballad for you...
A ballad for a fallen soul.

Now as I stand near you, supplicating.
I can hardly believe.
How I can’t even smell a whiff of your existence.
But can feel it all from within.
I can barely restrain the tears.
Like how the clouds are unable to restrain the rains when they gather.
My eyes completely inundated.
But the hope in this prayer at least leaves them dry.
That you are in radiance, in safe hands.
Restores joy to our hearts.
That your salats (worship) and good deeds will keep you company.
Inflames my desire to join you
So I write this ballad for you...
A ballad for a fallen soul.

I know that staring into these pictures would only ignite emotions and stir up tears.
And erupt an earthquake in my heart that no seismograph can read.
Why you left so early; only my Lord knows best.
But @ least it gives life to verses and supplications.
That nourishes my sacred thoughts.
And clothe my naked mind.
Your legacy still glows on our pathways.
As my feet rests on this soil;
I know that my Lord who gave life to the dead earth.
Will again give life to dead bones.
And by His mercy, we’d all dwell in manifest exultation.
In holy mansions.
In gardens underneath which rivers flow.
Reclining on thrones…for eternity.
So I write this ballad for you…
A ballad for a fallen soul.

Co- author: MOHAMMED SHAMUDEEN