By Abdulsamad Jimoh
N i g h t
Beneath the horizon sinks the sun,
Carrying away the daylight.
Into velvety black,
The sky changes its blanket,
Sending the signal that the night has come,
And the journey through hours of darkness begins.
Into the darkness,
The voices of humans gradually fade,
Overtaken by the chirping of crickets.
Time for the moon
To unleash its beauty upon the world,
Accompanied by the stars
Glimmering benignly in the sky.
For the moment has come for diurnal beings
To taste their minor death.
My past appeared vanished—no starting point…
As though I’d lost my memory,
yet in my seemingly full sensation.
I saw the world and her beauty;
the outlook that ordered me no cost,
playing with me like a breathing moonlight.
I was insentient. It was a mirage.
I wanted what I saw;
I wanted all the living beauties,
if I could command them to be mine.
Like my blood, my avidity was inside my flesh.
Very fast, it was lost,
when everywhere turned to a scary place,
as the living beauties became ogres.
From nowhere emerged monstrous creatures.
Then, I was captured by fear,
’cause I was the frailest creature,
and I couldn’t control what I had,
for I was in the second world,
where only my soul could go
and never my body…
I returned to the world.
It had been a nightmare
that had accompanied my night.
When I meet my Maker
I live my life the way it comes,
for I’m weak to control the line.
Weaker than a plume in the breeze
helplessly wandering with no hope.
Here, I landed one day,
in full state of unconsciousness,
blank memory of my previous journey.
I first beheld life,
when my eyes became mine,
enchanting me with her ravishing beauty.
I’ve fallen deep into her, like an ocean,
thinking she’s mine forever,
forgetting the story of my past,
when I was nowhere before…
There is a Controller, I discovered.
The Controller is the Maker:
the Maker of life and I,
and every being and nature.
The daily birth and death of the sun and moon
awaken my soul to prepare
For a journey with no second chances.
Keeping my duty to my Maker—
Obedience to the Lord—is the rescue afterlife.
For one day—a dateless day—
My story will end here.
So, when I meet my Maker,
I want to receive His Utmost Mercy.