Skip to main content

This Money by Akinwale Peace

Akinwale Peace

This money.
.
We've worked our life to serve a great country,
We've laid down our fortune to worship her,
We've with one eye fought with her enemies,
We've till the land for the country's treasures.
We've work while baboon chop like a fine pig,
We've planted acres and till it ourselves,
We did it for this beloved country;
We gave all, tell me, are we to suffer?
This money, they rob us of this money:
This money belongs to the labourers
who works round the clock yet their kindred starves,
This money belongs to those millions of
middle-class people who receive their own
salaries late but their tax 's deduct'd first.
This money belongs to the poor people
who starts their life in a shanty and ends
it there like a bird from it nest, and back!
This money belongs to widows, mothers,
sisters, whose men laid down their lives for her!
This money shouldn't be in bank but in
their pockets and country's account. But no!
This money is save with thieves and looters,
This money, our money, and this money
is the root of our root, we're nothing but
leaves that rustle at summer and like twigs
blown off at winter with the mighty waves.
What do we have that never ends? Lifetime
is just a deck of card, it falls and falls.
The poor works hard and eat like pigs! They eat
like Lazarus, feeding on crumbs from rich
man's table. What need is the needless crime?
The heart is on the left, but it's e'er right.
Even after years of being crowned a King
the palm wine tapper won't cease gazing at
the palm tree in a sweet sour memory.
When will these anuses 'broad come back home?

"words from the innocent mind"
            Philip Peace

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Read the story. TEARS IN MY EYES

BOOK PUBLISHED: TEARS IN MY EYES by OLOLADE AKINLABI IGE.GENRE: NOVELLA

Synopsis.

                     TEARS IN MY EYES     The anxiety for sex prompted the award winning and young Nigerian poet (Ololade Akinlabi Ige) to sharpen the keen mouth of his pen to write the novella: TEARS IN MY EYES. This is a book for everyone to read.
The pains and agony the main character in the novella went through were meant to awake the conscience of the wicked being. 

     Ariyo is a beautiful lady. Eyes cannot deny that. She is a product of rape but she leaves behind her worries knowing fully well that the world is good for no one. But she feels it is very stupid if she eventually falls victim of what led her to life. She tries to always avoid intimate relationship with boys because she knows quite well that boys often come with different missions in which most of the time their common mission is sex, sex and sex.
     But we are all human being, this heart needs a companion. So it is for Ariyo who uncons…

THE LOCAL HENS AND THE CHICKENS | FABLE

FABLE 1

THE LOCAL HENS AND THE CHICKENS.
Once upon a time, a woman has a big store for her chickens. The chickens are so big that they give big and good eggs everytime they release eggs. The woman fed them so much that they were weighty even after releasing eggs.
One day, a customer brought some local hens to her, she said
"Try them, they are also good hens. They give big eggs as well. You'll enjoy keeping and feeding them."

The woman collected them and added them with his chickens. The chickens and the local hens stayed together in a place.
One day, the woman gave them the normal food they eat, as the chickens pecked their food moderately, the local hens scattered it with their legs as they peck, they scattered it around and peck, they did that till they liter the whole place.
Mother hen looked at the chickens,
"We're the same now, we eat the same food. We will yield the same eggs, we will be on the postal too."
The chickens flap their feathers feebly and rested th…

NIGHT SYMPHONIES.

NIGHT SYMPHONIES.
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
the voluptuous pillows of a
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
and i'm good at riding roughly.
slide and glide, make a symphony
of our salvation on this cold night.



Akinwale Peace AkindayoPhilip Peace