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A Monarchy That Has Eaten The World

A Monarchy That Has Eaten The World.
To fight injustice is justice itself
The sun and the moon has witnessed their guilt;
for keeping ills beneath roofs and candles,
Rain drops passed through sun rays in knitting dews.
What have you, oh Angels to our hearts done?
These foul-breathed and broad-nosed have ceased breathings.
We're fouled up to high heavens in acrid
smell of rosy smell and hell is a-dwell.
They come to warm our boys to fill boxes
in their favour while their sons rest abroad.
We should even in ashes bow our heads;
Those heads that cooked their rice has cooked our pain
and they've sold their rights to fool's usual rites;
Of giving and taking, and love's not love;
for we love not 'selves, thus, we're nobody.
Their kids 're warm in the heating cold abroad
while we...well, not my blood could be sent a
night's errand or soul errand, for howling
nights against the star above —, when one fades
still r'main bright like a golden yellow sun.
Yet, their foot-trailers use same scheme for us
while we moan and murmur lips against them;
Yet, a handful of subjects eat their rice
in lethal cocktail of display'ng campaign.
They tend the sheep and feed the wolf with grass,
Two poison would be good to make one live
as a still sea in the midst of tempest —
We know pieces of peace that piece our peace
and yet, we take their rice and give our soul.
We should even in ashes bow our heads.
Oh God, what fools have reasoned so wisely —
What good are dusts used(ful) to be useless?

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
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