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There Is Something That Worth More Than It Seems by Akinwale Peace

There Is Something That Worth More Than It Seems by Akinwale Peace Akindayo(Philip Peace)
It was a special Olympics where handicapped children competed with tremendous dedication and enthusiasm. In 220-yard dash event,  contestants lined up at the starting line, and at the blast of the whistle, they all started running as fast as they could. Andrew quickly took the lead and as soon about 50 yards ahead of everybody else. As he approached the final turn, he looked back and saw his best friend had fallen and hurt himself on the track. Andrew stopped and looked at the finish line. People were hovering, "Run, Andrew, run." But he did not. Rather, he went back, helped his friend up and brushed off the dust from his body, and hand-in-hand, they crossed the finish line dead last. But as they did, the spectators cheered, because there are some things more important than winning.
(Culled from Higher Everyday, July 16, 2016)
I shared this post because of the depth attached to the words in here, the depth attached to the importance of things in here, Andrew knew he would win by loosing if he help his friend but he insisted on helping even when everyone hailed him as a winning contestant that needs more to do to finally win. He shunned winning to charity and from there, he won by loosing.
Now, let me ask you, what can you do to save a friend?
The spectators cheered and knew that there is something more than winning, the impression you create is something that worth emulation. If you run pass the oppress in a bid to win, I'm telling you, the oppressed' weakness is coming to be your own weakness too and perhaps, no one will be by you.
There is something more than winning, when you acknowledge those who are behind you, when you see they've fallen and seem hopeless, my dear, go back to help them because there is something that worth more, more more more than winning.
Thanks for reading, I'm Akinwale Peace Akindayo, Philip Peace.


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For Ikeoluwa.

I have sailed in the ocean — on
your body's warm drenched spot axis,
and i have felt the touch of your
freezing burning hands and cold words:
you said some soft words gently in
my ear on a cold night. and my
body is a tree, it rustles
when winds beat. winds like your mutters.

I have a whirling desire
that we are over the 9th edge;
grabbing, rocking, licking, tasting —
and the passion flows 'n' action shows.
your whole body defines a lot
even when i see nothing but
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tired bed, calling me to sleep.

Slowly, this pace beats rapidly
like a running fire. and i'm
burning coldly on a meet with
your whitish round thorax muscle.
glorious! your body is a bike
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slide and glide, make a symphony
of our salvation on this cold night.

Akinwale Peace AkindayoPhilip Peace