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Sunday 1 November 2015

Wish for a life ‘well spent’

The phenomenon of death should ordinarily make society to seek to do justice and act in equity within itself. One does not seek to destroy when he faces the same destiny as his adversary.
It is important for one to be identified with proffering solutions to ills which afflict society instead of  working against the good of same. If one chooses the latter he may perhaps, also, choose not to die. I have not seen nor heard of he who has found alternative to death though. One or other reasons, often beyond the convention, would ultimately result in one’s demise.

According to Dr Aliyu Namangi in his “Infiraji”:

“Death, ordinarily, manifests in wars,
Or in an inferno,
Or to a woman in labour,
It can, also, but afflict a fabric plaiter,
Who, having set to commence his trade,
May die without a start” 

The writer of “Ta’alimul Muta’allimu tariqatit Ta’alim” said:

“Were you to live a thousand years and two thousand years thereafter,
there is no mistaking the time when you shall sally forth to the grave”.

Everyone has tested of 'death' in one way or another and everyone shall one day die and be part of history in its quintessential fragrances or among its rubbish heap. 

Consider a two part poem on the phenomenon of death:

Death - 1

First my wife then followed my brother,
Then my relations and several of my friends.
With shock then passed my cherished mother.
Death weaves along with meticulous fervour,
Never too late and never too early,
Cultivating souls with uttermost tenacity,
Sure to be present at the right place and time.

It's but a Godly pre-ordination,
Whatever goes up ultimately descends,
Everything old was once freshly new,
What goes around assuredly  comes around,
An infant once now the eldest folk in town,
Make a ‘selfie’ and view your once sweet face,
Whatever begins ends through the wave of time.

 Oh death! You are eternally strange,
Ever to be dreaded whenever you appear,
We never ‘understand’ to live with your company,
You manifest in a nature we can’t compare.
So said despite departure of nearly everyone,
Except ourselves who are but on the track,
No matter the stretch and beauty of our lives.

Most often our dead are taken to the grave,
Sunk in and buried before relations and friends,
Yet ever unmindful we depart the cemeteries,
Forgetting that we all are billed to be there,
Without any shame we merry and cheer,
The dead have gone and we just got them there,
Our life goes on with its vulgarity and conceits.

Build empires and acquire all treasure,
Alexander was ‘great’ and he was wealthier.
Be powerful with all tools to pressure,
The pharaoh has left though he was mightier.
Think you good health makes you the earth’s heir?,
All the doctors in Paris felt De Gaulle was healthier.
Death feels no barrier when the time comes near.

Reflect oh you traveller,
on the vainness of scheming
against society and its noble institutions!
Your paltry being should think posterity,
“Spread no falsehood on earth after its perfection”.
Choose a convenient Posthumous epitaph:
“May God confine him to the hottest hell”, or
“May God bless him and grant him peace”.


Death – II

Strange Visitor Emeritus!
Be-tested of everyone,
With “A lotus for Miss Quon”
Or “No orchids for Miss Blandish”.

You think to live ad-infinitum?
Were it possible,
Would come to pass,
Eloping like a sparkle.

Among all thinkable Colours,
Blond or grey their hair,
Hispanic or Germanic,
Black, Asian or the Arab.

Never once fatigued,
When multitude are to vanish,
With Katrina and the fires,
Or when the Titanic sunk.

All climes are apt for its calling,
Mid-winter to the onset of summer,
When the rains fall with tact,
Or at the ‘New Yam festival’.

It manifests abroad,
Or at the safety of one’s home,
At dusk and at dawn,
To one devout in prayers.

Recall the toils of the Tutsis,
The Bantus in the South
Or Tsunami in the Far East,
And quakes in the North.

Hurricane caused floods,
Hunger and diseases,
All horrors of the poor,
Who in death seek succour.

It bears well on broods,
On honey-mooning Spouses,
On Michael and Spencer,
Or the Princess of Wales.

On beasts submerged,
Or walking on the surface,
In the wild and the home,
Despite the lamb being adored.




2 comments:

Anonymous said...

This is a beautiful ode to Death n the living
I so love the first poem
How relatable u made it feel with the first stanza
Sir this is poem has to enter my favorite catalogue written by you
Bukky

Alfa Ibrahim said...
This comment has been removed by the author.