Month: November 2017

Flash back to our beautiful old home
Together like the teeth of a comb we put even the hardest hair in shape
For there’s no difference from the room of Akweley to Daavi
Neither is the welcome of Habeeba different from Regina
As the unity in action was so unique like the movement of night and day

Kojo was a son to Seidu
As Kabiru was a brother to Chemu
For priority was in doing the right and shunning the wrong
No matter the who involved, the rod spared not the child
Like the broom stick we swept together all the dirt that stood on our way

A soul to fall was a failure to all
A man to rise was an honor for all
The tribal marks however long or thick never caused a thing
With our different religious creed, unity was our utmost deed
For no room never gets beaten by hunger
While there’s a pot boiling from the next neighbor

The serenity of those days have become memories that our lips even shy to recount
For our own has gradually degenerate to my own
We wail as to our continues failure
Forgetting a chain is as strong as its weakest link
Living a life of who dominates who
We run from duty in the guise of being busy
A home full of people yet a vacuum so deep in the heart of the home
Once a golden home now a story to be told

 

©Hamza Hajj Ayub

The little childhood games beneath the shade of the tree
When imaginations and emotions went beyond boundaries because they were free
We run loose to fall back in our beautiful mistakes
Bruises and wounds were just as sweet as the pain of leaving the play field
For everything seems so beautiful that we never imagined it to leave
But as the elders say, the fault of that which is sweet is in its end

Longing to grow old so we can escape commands that halt our child play
We imagined not, that it is responsibility that maketh a man and not his size
For however little the ant, it never calls on the elephant to do its task
As honor is how much you do for yourself however little than how much you wait to be done for you

Embraced by the scorching sun as man moves about in order to make his hay
Waiting for the night to take its toll so rest can finally find its way
Unfortunately it’s no sleep by shutting the eye lids while the brain is widely awake
For until the fire beneath the pot stops blazing, the content of the pot is sure to keep boiling

Many we claim to say but few is heard
Many we claim to do but few is felt
Many we claim to pull but few is seen
Many we claim to give but few is received
The distinction between dream and reality we only explain best with words
For as children we grew up with many broken promises
So as men we fail to recognize the honor in vindicating our words with actions

©Hamza Hajj Ayub

Tales about the devil
Of what minds came to believe that he has a tail
Wronging even the good soul that bears a tail
For in our stereotyped lens they only strive to fail

A holy deception
Of what is good is that which fills the belly of “the man with the book”
Scriptures have become lyrics to suit his song
Either dance to his tune or be a victim to his prune

They are willing to show
But unhappy when man starts to know
For with ignorance they get the masses to follow
As they only seek to indoctrinate than rather educate

A man is but his heart and deeds
As not all with good looks make good cooks
Eyes maybe a window to the heart
But actions will determine whether one has come to stay

The evil man has for long hide behind the scriptures
For the gullible refuse to know its nature
Literature may have the words
The preacher may explain the verse
As the teacher may reveal the way
But will man’s heart hold on to the truth?

 

©Hamza Hajj Ayub

 

A ride on the poor man’s weakness
As the greedy man garner his riches
Never gets enough even as he loses count of his wealth
Whereas the bane of hunger makes the needy count his ribs

A cruel desire that keeps getting worse
Not a single day does it give the poor man a rest
He finds enough to wash his cars
While starve the needy for what they will even quench their thirsts

A Legendary in squandering
But a mediocre in magnanimity
Cripple the platform for heroes
For he only cares about the zeroes
As he becomes a saint to the villains

The world is a competition for the greed
To see another climb the ladder of riches
he gets consumed by fear
Consumed by materialism he forgets his essence
As it’s not what you take when you leave the world behind you
But what you leave behind you when you go

©Hamza Hajj Ayub