I’ve been on a temple track, Running a relay race,
With fine fellow,
For a long time
In rain, sun, mist, and fog

When will I reach?
When will I exchange the baton?

Today on the stop line is me
Legs for long get tired
As trial and tribulation do come
Some fell while some kept running on track

Oh, fine fellow!
if you don’t want to be knocked down by a dazzling truck
Maintain your line,
Run fast for the last lap,
And leave fine fruits alone
Mind you, our seniors have succeeded in several seconds
Our days are numbered
These are what every mouth is miming
Since when we started are approaching

Oh, temple track! Give us hope
Results have to show surely on that day
Some shall smile and some shall cry
For the digits that will be displayed
On green papers

How?

How will I forget you?
How far have I gone?
That I can't see my back
I'm not such a blind driver,
That drives without looking at his mirrow...
On a narrow road,
Thinking to arrive safely...

Do you think that I forget you,
Your face,
Walking
And thoughts in class....

If I forget everything,
Methinks these would not be forgotten....

Don't you think I'm that a child?
That remembers his mother's caring
in the day and night...
Hes efforts in disciplining him,
Her responses to his cries

open your ears and hear me!
I still see you in my hearts
With both good and bad image
We don't talk but you are in my mind

Know that the tree you watered
Is spreading its roots,
Products,
And shades in the world...

I'm still grateful

By Muhammad Auwal Ibrahim

I remember when we were dodgers,
of intiger's paracetamol of computation...
Not knowing it was a fertilization...
That better production...

I remember when I ran a relay race
With fellow folks on blue and white
Singing a song, 'Fire  on the Mountain,

Run, run, run!'
The noise and sweat is over
today
My legs are on the stop line...

And the baton is taken...

If I remember how we learned...
we leaned...
we ran as union...
I feel like reversing to school...
Returning to form a union...

But if I remember the ugly and sad times, I had in primitive period...
I feel like not going back ...
To the dead period
buried on ground

Suddenly today comes a time
When all graduates come
To remember primal class, methinks there comes not a time
When all GHS products would come...
On dining table and dine...
Like when we were primary children...

Dear our teachers you are like farmers
That farm on our lands
For long planting seeds
Know that it will never give heat
Your service is unrewardable
Only God can reward you
All the shade we spread now
Comes after your fertilization

Written By

Muhammad Auwal
Ibrahim