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Here, Everything Works by Akinwale Peace

Akinwale Peace

Here, Everything Works.

Hunger walks on the street like seven winds,
Anger dances across like myriad stars.
The land is a spring of a wet desert;
The Seeds of the earth are sweating camels.

The Seeds wake to the rumbling tides of the cloud
and shiver 'neath hot breeze of poverty.
They run snakily 'midst wheels and bend down–
facing acres to plough like they're tractors.

The Seeds feign as Angels while they're devils;
to rob problem seek'rs to solve their problems–
The Seeds are rust of running end of time;
Time is just a gentle wicked tick'ng tack.

The Seeds are not unwell with doubled lips–
The Seeds pull triggers for papers of worth–
and face truthful bars with lying tongues because
the just are unjust, the unjust are just.

Some Seeds shed blood while some Seeds bleed deep blood–
The good helped the bad, the bad soiled the good;
The innocent perish with sinners, thus
they're like stupid rain. Here, everything works.

Maybe if we perish, nay, we perish,
But time gives away and leaves life alive–
Maybe life is a dice; a poison is
someone's sweetest nosh. Hence, everything works.

"words from the innocent mind"
            Philip Peace

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