Kabiru rose one morning only to see he’s made,
A student of life who never made the grades,
Deceit and defeat always came to his aid,
Just when his greatness was about to be laid,
Feints of perfection and simulations of greatness always made a raid,
He could see but he had no vision,
He could hear yet devoid of a balance,
He could walk but his legs trembled,
His firm was grip yet his hands fumbled,
He was soon made, even if he always tumbled,
What made Isaiah?
I’m cork sure it wasn’t a denial?
Nor giving up in the midst of trials,
Or pouring water on his burning fire,
Or getting tired,
Just when he was about fulfilling desires?
Isaiah was made by Kabiru,
Two religious moguls,
One of the christian faith and the other, a Muslim
You would say their chances of thriving together was more slim,
And their light together, so dim,
You are wrong!
Because, Kabiru made Isaiah,
Through a constancy of unity thicker than a wire,
You may have been told,
By someone so bold,
Or by a man so old,
That you can’t cope with another faith,
As that was never your fate,
Or that you don’t have a date,
With the faith of a religiously different mate,
He may come to your aid,
We are strong on hope,
And tireless on belief,
But how do we cope?
With our human-induced beliefs,
If we keep being at an arm’s length,
With those who may probably be our strength,
Shun the religious sentiments,
If you ever want to be eminent,
Just before you are told something else,
This earth was never two,
If so, where else?!