Aneesah Muhammad Muazu
Three Poems by Aneesah Muhammad Muazu
Waters Older Than Our Names
At the village square, voices barter stories
for silence. The grandmothers weave tales,
threading yesterday into tomorrow.
Culture is an ocean
flooding through tongues and songs,
carrying the scent of yams and cassava.
The elders are seated beneath the banana trees;
we chase their shadows to the ends of the earth.
The moon bows out while the sun ascends in glory.
Culture is an ocean
where we uncover the stories of those before us,
learning the rhythm of their days,
carrying our legacy through the storm,
holding firm to what is ours.
A thunder within us echoing, assuring us
that we are not abandoned—we are
carried by waters older than our names.
Drums speaking languages older than stones.
The scent of a roasted millet delivered
to a trader’s hand.
Culture is an ocean
like a lively dance beneath the baobab tree,
through which the ancient secret is revealed,
affections shared like a melody to the listener.
And so we hold it tight,
woven in suffering but strong to rise.
Though time may discard the fruits,
we stand as one garment, carrying
tomorrow’s feast in today’s world.
Ode to the Butterfly
Everyone wishes to catch you—
your colourful and admirable flight.
Your breathtaking rainbow wings,
swirling an aura of magic.
I dream of being in your serene world
where everything is ethereal yet real.
Take me out of this bothersome human world.
Everything you touch receives life.
The petals. The pith. The path. The planet.
Touch me and let my soul be lost in your scent.
Stitched To My Name
I wore a mask.
Growing up, I saw Baba’s anger molded in
Mama’s warmth and carefreeness.
Dan dambe, his colleagues calling.
His face, wild as a lion’s, his voice frightening
when he rehearsed in the compound.
Growing up, I learnt he wore a golden mask.
His heart, a white kyalle that spoke in his dialect.
His care, a haze from wax.
Silently carrying us all on his back.
It was late in the evening when we lost
our voices; Baba angrily flew
while Mama collapsed on the road,
her legs buried in blood.
Struggling to save us,
her warmth did not fade,
battling to rescue the closest,
and so she was thrown into the trash.
Now, I wear a mask!
Recalling all that happened,
a memory stitched to my name.
I am carrying two: Baba’s mask
and Mama’s warmth.
Bio:
ANEESAH MUHAMMAD MUAZU is a fresh graduate of Federal University Gashua, where she studied English. Born in Nguru Local Government, Yobe State, she has become known for her excellent effort and commitment to academic success. With a passion for language and literature, Aneesah continues to distinguish herself as a promising scholar in her field and an emerging voice in the world of writing.
