A Conversation between Musa and John

Musa:
I know you have love for me,
and you want us to be together

John:
I also know you live a life of peace
and you want me to have that peace as well

Musa:
But can you really love me the way you love yourself like you said?

John:
Why not?
Didn’t Jesus die for us because he loved us?

Musa:
Please John, if you want me to love you
the way you say you love me,
you will have to keep that Jesus of yours to yourself
because it is Mohammed I know, the holy prophet of Allah whom I love

John:
If that pleases you, Musa.
But if you want us to enjoy peace together as well,
You will also have to keep your Mohammed to yourself
Because I am at peace with Jesus, the only son of God, Jehovah

Musa:
But you must know, John That there is no true peace
without Islam

John:
And you must know too, Musa
That there is no true love without Christainity

Musa:
(laughs) that cannot be true, John.
Think about it:
Of what use is love without peace?
Of what use is love
if you cannot be at peace with me?

John
(smiles) and of what use is peace
without love, Musa?
Of what use is peace
If you cannot live in love with me?
You think about it too!

Musa:
Well, with peace,
I can be patient enough
to give you a chance
to show me
How love lives without peace.
Only then can you sleep
With that Bible of yours by the pillow.

John:
Oh, good! And with love,
I can trust you enough to give you a chance
To show me
how peace lives without love.
Only then can you sleep with that Koran of yours
by my side.

(c)Senator Ihenyen 2012

My Obsession or What You Will

Since it was a bit difficult giving this poem that has refused to let me be a title, I chose to go with the Shakespeare style of “What You Will”.

This poem is a child of frustration. I kept throwing it away, but kept coming back. Now, like the woman for which the speaker in the poem is obsessed with, there is a certain obsession I now have for this poem! Call it what you will!

MY OBSESSION OR WHAT YOU WILL

why do you stare at me
waiting for the muse in me
to render a poem to you
when you are the muse making music inside me
and I a worshipper waiting at the bank of this river of love?

Let me walk towards your perfection
just to kneel before your beauty, before your magic,
because the lines of a poem to you my love from a mortal mind like mine,
would be like rendering incantations to a lifeless idol,
a god made of wood, not woman made of flesh
for the body throbing before your presence is not wood for fire, but food for nightly infernos

From my knees,
I cannot dare to meander my hands through the curves of your paths,
the twin-hills on your chest, and rabbit hole in the middle between these trees growing skywards
towards your facial horizon only left to be imagined.
These places are too high for me,
like climbing hills of Erin-Ijesha upon a picnic.
Let me stare with awe from the stems of your trees
Like a worshipper waiting for the wonders of your magic wand in the wind,
Waiting for your endowed height to fall upon me
like the seven waterfalls of Erin-Ijesha,
bathing me with your love so immortal,
washing me fresh from the mess of heartbreakers
too mortal to live beyond the lives of their flesh

Senator Ihenyen (c)2012