Modern Ghana logo

FEATURED: Scientists Can't Prove God Wrong Yet Only A Few Believe In God...

Opinion | Aug 26, 2018

The Dream

By Muhammad Ajah, from his Poem Collections titled: Man in the Mirror.

When the plaintive dream visited me again
In the half end of a dormant night
All the way across the Sahara Desert
To this Buuth near Duwai-a, Cairo
Between the afghan and pallet
I tossed, yawned and lo cried out
I had seen two men, one I knew
My dear dad who had been so dear
Dead five square of years ago
At five, I hardly could catch him well
But it was he. O, it was he!
Who could call my name so well?
My door was knocked and soon opened
He came smiling with a man behind
Sat by my bed, his tender eyes
Fixed on mine and then placing
His ever blessed palm on my chest
And as my fear was growing high
Soothed me like my loving mum
Dad you choose to forsake me?
When all I had was you and mum
Bursting into tears he held me tight
And cried the more, Oh my son!
My time was reached, the Divine Time
I had no choice but had to hear
The Caller who gently picked
My transformed soul away
To the home where I dwell alone
Why didn’t you take me there along?
Just a home built for one
And the Caller acts by High Command
And more, long journey, you can’t understand
Tell me what you know, stranger strand!
Fear and pain or blessing and joy
All kinds of reward beneath the land
Behold my sonny, behold the world!
It has betrayed to us who are gone
The lessons I do now lay you on
Lest my blood on earth be forlorn
And pas them to your yet unborn
Sing to them of the paradise gained
And of gardeners who will be chained
For I was a sheep lost and found
Grown so wild nearly to be bound
To hide their flesh of less pound
In the abyss of sterile ground
For I lost in Him that which is sound
How merciful the Incomprehensible He!
To call me when I was much free
And had indeed made my plea
That all my life would be
For Him just before the Caller appeared
My dear son, tell all you dearly love
Nay, tell all the living, near and far
The world of your age is mad
And we, the gone, are sad
Most of you to us are bad
Your world has ever lost peace
Ever till all of you return
Beware my dear, the world has betrayed
Great heroes of long gone days
Kings and queens of then and now
To gain the victory of the mean
Its false proem lures entrance
You must pack and hoard and hoard
And leave no man to get your way
With complex lust in you it weans
That Divine Gift and renders your urge
The oppressor sees his art of the Saint
The proud does sneer at the innocent mass
Love sycophants, whether lad or lass
To gain a world flimsy and crass
Do pangs on the true lovers pass
Justice as well as peace is lost
For might is now the right
For in that position, man feels mighty
He feels sweat of life is overcome
But when that dreadful course arrives
Pulls out their dirty thin souls
Then the world grins and laughs
And they grin but shout and weep
For late they have been to bewail
It welcomes newcomers with open palm
And parts its guests with solid push
But ere I part I have to impart
These seven orders simple and wise
Holy in them that you may live
The moderate - safe as savant
Who does turn to Who made him
Time like air you hold divine
For work, it’s the fruit of success
You must learn, then read to write
The source of wisdom lies behind
Man is the most blessed living
Blessed to diversify all things
The good, the best, the bad and worst
So make time to think for thinking
In you it inspires holier strength
Play with care to take fresh breath
In that dwells the will of youthful mirth
Laugh. Always loosen your fair cheek
For that is the music of the soul
Then most precious of these all
Your time for worship and call
To fetch peace and warmth for the mind
You are the seventh now doing
Rest your body, and always be kind
Beware my dear sonny, farewell
The man behind merely gave a nod
No father, don’t leave me here
Do not leave me here behind
Take me with you, my dear dad
I must go, now, I must go
You can a step make not with me
As your time is yet to come
Alone we come and alone we go
I woke. But O how fast he was gone!
Muhammad Ajah is a poet, an advocate of humanity, peace and good governance in Abuja. E-mail [email protected]
Muhammad Ajah
Muhammad Ajah, © 2018

This author has authored 291 publications on Modern Ghana.
Author column: MuhammadAjah

Disclaimer: "The views/contents expressed in this article are the sole responsibility of the author(s) and do not neccessarily reflect those of Modern Ghana. Modern Ghana will not be responsible or liable for any inaccurate or incorrect statements contained in this article."

Reproduction is authorised provided the author's permission is granted.

Powered By Modern Ghana