Signature of Time

By Said Shuaib

"He adopts a free-verse style that is jazzed up with his own form of simple rather than verbose descripton.His free-style approach possesses a disticnt flavour that give various sensual themes a simple form of description that foregrounds them in the heart and mind.

The simplicity of language and illustrational clarity are unmistakeably different,allowing you to flow through his detail with ease.This technique makes the whole process of composition appear less complicated than it really is"

THISDAY

"A philosophical statement on the concept of time"

New Nigerian Weekly

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 2, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467013666

Said Shuaib

From Bida Niger State Nigeria,said shuaib was born in Lagos and comes from a family of twenty-four brothers and sisters.

Book preview

SIGNATURE OF TIME

Not everything defines clarity and purpose,

Things can at times equal no explanation.

The spirit is incandescent with different moods,

An actor acts, an artist paints, while a poet declaims.

To float on through but only at my own behest,

The outcome of my journey time knows best.

No one was born bad; no soul by choice unwise,

On the battlefield in the theater of life our honor we compromise.

So I ask you what shall I do?

A silence that prevails I know not too.

Love and peace which of both will be mine?

To savor an understanding of life

Perhaps in the signature of time.

MY ROSE

The pleasures of life are all too temporary

Compared to loving you.

All this has meaning, Being with you

Defines permanent joy.

Wealthy emotions of culture and substance

constantly parading within my soul,

your reality flushes away my darkness.

your tenderness promises time eternal and

monumental.

You are the extreme of all that is illustrious,

Beautiful and fanciful.

You are without any wrong, a paradise

Flourishing within the spirit of infinite truth.

My rose you are my garden of refined calm and serenity.

A SHEPPARD OF PEACE

I want to steal silence away from time

Create within this miracle a domain of harmony;

A special place.

To capture extraordinary things,

To live the dream of no more loss, no more pain.

To live beyond plain moments.

To be a sailor on a voyage seeking values forgotten but

Not lost.

Finally I hear the tides calling me;

and yes here I come sailing on blue water.

Air entering to refine my lungs;

There can be no going back no thought to retreat.

All I can be,

all I want to be is

A butterfly in the wind,

A swan in a lake,

A Sheppard of peace.

A BITTER DAWN

Another night on my bed lying not so perfectly still.

I indulge myself in past and present events.

In my own mind my own court.

I am the judge, prosecutor, jury,

The witness and the accused.

I participate as my own audience.

It is always a lonely night, an attempt to reconcile

And find balance.

I recall memories,

A plea for us to seize a brilliant opportunity.

Let me touch this light and be taken hostage by this need.

This is an imagination that suspects no false.

Let time usher in peace and flow on from here-devoted pure love.

. Let there be no more sad endings no more sad nights.

Let sleep call on me and take me through the night

Majestically and keep me unbroken and alas here

I pray for timeless peace that I may witness no more bitter dawns.

MY LADY MY LOVE

You are the perfection of silence that admits

My spirit into a wilderness of oak trees at the

Epitome of spring.

You are the soft whisper of a mild morning from

a season of love.

A season within itself that is seasoned by

Uncommon grace, Verily you give me strength

Bringing light into my soul.

I have become alive

And have bid loneliness an aloof farewell.

My constant prayer reassures me that time

Can give all.

Now I see hazel ccolored trees in the woods

And beyond this spectacle and magnificence

I see you the woman that tames my heart,

The lady that I love so very much.

THE COLOR OF TIME:

Sometimes people change;

And the colors of life may appear

A tint lighter or a shade darker.

Voices we assume to know

May sound huskier or a little softer.

The evening wind does not always come

With its pleasant tenderness, it