Dear Diary

"Noo!". My shrill cry was carried with the currents to my father's room adjacent to mine. He yanked the door open and burst into my room just as I jerked up from sleep, my breathing laboured. He took one look at me and knew, for the pain he saw in the deep blue within my eyes, was mirrored in his with a taint of green.

For a curiosity-driven girl, she had learnt early in life the way about calculations and arithmetic. And for this, she was as brilliant and smart as she could since in numbers, knowledge springs from.
In addendum, she read all she could find and asked questions of new and interesting things to her. She attended the only school in town and was one of the few girls allowed to go to school.
Needless to say, she topped the class and had high hopes of travelling to places she had read about in books.

A CHILD'S TALE

The rhymes are no longer melodious,
The once bright paintings,
Are now obscure
For they have now been coloured with gloom
Of my rainbow pastels,
Only deep red survives.

The bustling corridors at school,
Are now empty and deserted,
Not even the rat down the hall
Will take a squeaky peek.

For the screams of the slain,
Fill the hall way.

The rivers are contaminated,
Our taps run with blood.
I sleep with an eye closed,
Fearing the other will be forced shut forever.

The 'giant of Africa' is in ‘sifia’ pain

Despite her profound status and fame

Regardless of the continuous rain

Drought in the land continue to kill and maim

The education sector is in shambles

While our future leaders dance shaku shaku

Churning out half-baked graduates

What then are the students' fates?

Primary education is crumbling

Unqualified teachers are teaching

The pupils are not listening

In a dilapidated structure called a building

Slowly and steadily crept the ruthless rat
Not in the night but broad daylight
To sow a seed of discord in my heart
Robbing me of my hard-earned precious might

Looking sideways while in motion
Taking a step or two with caution
His opportunity arrived in a second-fraction
Carting away my mobile with satisfaction

And then do I come like a soldier without arms,
Rubbing my startled face with my palms,
Not believing my fatigued reddened eyes,
Breaking down into crumbles of audible wails

Ladies and gentlemen, breathing or deceased

Let me tell you a story I am ignorant about

You need not listen,

just pay rapt attention

It is a genuine story,

fake  within and without

On a shining day, in the midst of the night

The sun rose late from great west side

With their backs turned,  two men faced each other

Hands dipped in pockets,  they shot each other

A lame man ran to the bloodshed funfair

His numb legs sprinting fast like Usain Bolt's

'O Lord of mercy! Proclaimed a dumb woman

 She wreathes in hypocrisy

 And basks in the realm of lust

 Forgetting the commandments of her creator

 Hiding her Islamic identity

 She joins the league of the multifaceted

 Bearing Toyyiba among pious brethren

 But Tina baby within ‘au courant’ infidels

 Seeing her during the day with her Hijab

 You’d be like ‘’ma sha Allah’’

 Looking so charming and pious

 Brothers would be like ‘’this is take home to Mama’’

 Creating an undoubtful impression

 Of a loyal servant of Allah

Enthusiastically, we left the fountain, Hoping to hop to the best of places, We took along the bests in the best, And were accompanied by the firsts in the first, We jubilated as Jubril engineered the argument,

Love me, not for my beauty
Love me for Allah's sake so as not to be guilty

Scold me, not because you want to be bossy
Scold me, to become a beneficiary of Allah's mercy

Many a time I wonder for what we compete?
For cloth, for jewelries amongst others or even life in itself complete

The Sohaba are the best of competitors
Not in fawaaaaish (evils) but always to seek Allah's pleasure
Despite the beauty, the knowledge, the wisdom and all of their treasure
They choose only to compete for Allah's utmost treasure (Jannah)

Every step I take, with pride
Confidence is all the sight as I stride
They fathom not, my beauty I hide
Curiosity catches the soul to picture underneath
My foreign disguise makes them wonder
Then they strike like a thunder
So I wield my smile for them to ponder

Aisha was not a birth mother
Yet her children beyond counting
Maryann was not a wife
Yet she is venerable among existing women
Asiyah is wife to perilous man
Yet she is praised and cherished
Just for the sake of their hiding beauty