This morning a little child asked me
"What is today's date, Sir?"
"the seventh day of July, 2007" I replied
and he said," Thank you, Daddy"
and he disappeared into oblivion

Life is a sweet melody
only where love is the witty lyrics
that make it a beautiful song

Life is a stream that finds its own course
only where its flow is charted by vicissitudes

Poetry is like a sleeping fire
when read between the lines
it melts the subtle into explicit

talent is like a sleeping fire
when the embers are stocked
it crackles with hot burning coals

The moon shone on the silent graveyard
sniffing dusty dieing footsteps of mourners
subtle echoing dirges rekindle old tassels
forgotten sleeping fires leaped from sages past

Oh! Great sages of blema
here I come once again
my voice has gone blunt
and in need of whetting

I am going to the forge
to saddle my voice again
at the foot of the brook

God is God
He was made by man
but refuses to be human

God is invisible
He was hidden by sin
but is seen everywhere

God is unfathomable
He was made mysterious
but is known to everyone

The nebulous whirlwind in the horizon
charted by the vertigo of technology
twirled and dazed my forefathers of old
to dance to strange whispering tunes
lost in the heightened tempo scuffles

With what shall I compare thee?
for before thee I crave the key
to open a poet’s muse designed
a new source of beauty defined

thou apt black flower of the Sudan

There is a certain new tempo of rhythm
when the old flare of the nomadic is dim
rustling through the thick undergrowths
gnawing at the hearts of African youths

Once upon a time
at a starry sheen moonlight
heart rending serenade
I passionately responded
as luring whiff of unmistakable
fragrance of nostalgia
plummeted me through childhood

Today may offer me dualities
the sole chance of a rare charisma
those childhood steps to retrace
but tempt not my lofty dreams

yesterday’s hunches are
today’s serendipity savored