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Showing posts from August, 2017

Men are Toys (are men really toys? Read)

Men are Toys.
I was sitting on my thought, when I heard
thin voices say "we should be equal with 'em."
When God first made man, He made him the head
and made one from him; his best supporter.
And Adam was man, did like a man does
and Eve was woman, she conceived as one.And the useless blood flows through all; -we dusts-
like to sullen streams. We're from one Black soil —
God moulded man from a Black soil — Yea, Nay?
Daughters of Eve wants to be the head now.
I was sitting on my thought, when I heard
thin voices say "we should be equal with 'em."
When God first made man, He made him the head
and made one from him; his best supporter.
They have risen now like Christ's on third day
to be head of their homes and make men toys.
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

Man Made Man (perhaps, Mystical. Read)

Man Made Man.
For, God was man when water brims
For, He mould'd we from clay, -as man
moulds, such He.- Thus said Him, I'll mould
man like me, in my image, yet
in flesh would I, not as spirit —
as would Adam would have loved be.Then, God was man mould'ng man, in Him
hast he made all yet not as Him.
For said He, if they're like me, they'll
mould too. Thus, hast He not made man
spirit but flesh yet man posses
d'mon and man hast made man himself,
but life have not robot man made.For, if God being man made man as
He, then would man reference Him not
nor would He say nay to their Yea.
And man has made robots man as
they but has no air. For, God has
made man as He and crowned them Life;
breath as though man would not... never.Though science gives life but God gives
life to what He hast made living.Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip PeaceImage: Google

Asaro Elepo Rederede (Biblical Allusion, Prosaic Poetry)

AsaroElepoRederede.Good pale evening, grinning and breathing skulls,
I am the old hair; the white rust of black.I saw two Kings in her womb as she strived,
the older will serve the younger, said I.
She gave the two blood silky milk as wool,
One has goat's skin on his flesh, the else doesn't.
Twins were they, but the older loves farming
while the other is the salt in the stew;
He loves home and cooks like Captain Cook's wife.
The father loves the farmer to the Cook —
The mother loves the Cook to the farmer.
The farmer came from the farm famished one
day, he begged the Cook for food and the Cook
asked for his birthright in the stead of porridge.
The wise fool farmer let go leadership
for the stomach. Wise men turn fools with a word.
Their father has one soul, one breath left in
and he wished to pray for his beloved.
He sent him Bush meat — may I call it as
to grease his palm. Mother heard and told her
beloved. Secret is a news. The Cook
prepared fresh meat and wore …

Satirical poem: State of the State.

State of the State.
The state of the State is like a baby's
diaper; wet in some places and loosed in
some places. The level we are is just
requests from common men, not their voices.
Tell me, what life is it, when birds can flap
and cannot chirp? We are birds with no tongue.For, when one stands to fight, common men stands
to watch his fall yet calls God — He's unfair,
"You watch them kill him, who is our saviour?"
Who saves than he that has once witnessed pain
as spark of flame from an extinguished fire?
Yea, Saviours need no holes in their lined hands.For, God doesn't do everything Himself,
He leaves some for some good devils to do.
When hundred feet comes, it's marriage, and when
thousands comes, corruption speaks within them.
Some things eyes could not see when opened, yet
are they, things that close the eyes when lips moves.Power in wrong hands is as bang'ng banger;
What good does it? Blackout, pass out, light fades.
For, God doesn't do everything …

There Is A Rov'ng Cloud...

There Is A Rov'ng Cloud...
There is a rov'ng cloud in my heart
That when it rains, it meets sunshine
and melts the cold ice in my heart.
That, when you gaze; we lock; entwine.I want your heart knocking my soul
as the birds reach souls as they tweet.
If your love console my patrol —
Your love is the meat of my meat.Your love lifts my soul as the cloud;
Oh, yea, from the earth to the sky.
Love is the two great lights enshroud
and my heart has its butterfly.Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace


Where is your clutches —
You four legged fellow?Beggar,
Where has your bed slept —
'Neath chilly heat of cold?Beggar,
Where is your clamour —
In deafening silence?Beggar,
Whence cry your dry cry —
As of a midnight rain?Beggar,
Why are you like this?
So sad... A living dead.Beggar,
Where is your dry tears
that makes me want to cry.
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

The Beg-Heir

The Beg-Heir.If my farm would feed the birds of the air
I'll give it to the hands beneath the bridge.
If my full will fill my house as the air
I'll give it to the hands beneath the bridge.If my happiness would feed just sadness
I'll give it to the hands beneath the bridge.
I'll display -If comfort could be madness-
I'll give it to the hands beneath the bridge.The earth is in my shoe; if it could be
I'll rest their heads in solace, not a bridge.
If the kingdom of cobwebs buzz as bees
I'll make them sing the hymn 'Across the Bridge.'But the earth has been buried, yea, I mean
Humanity has crossed over the bridge
and wheels screech and scream at a begging teen
because he's as a pig beneath the bridge.Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

My Writing heals the body of words unsaid. — Charlotte Akello

My Writing heals the body of words unsaid. — Charlotte Akello
For Today's FROM THE OTHER SIDE with Philip Peace, I bring to you am Author, A Poet and a Writer in person of Charlotte Akello, an Ugandan Poet.


Can we meet you, Ma’am? Guest: Thanks for this opportunity. I’m Charlotte Akello. A graduate of Makerere University. A literature enthusiast. 

Tell us what you do. Guest: Currently, I’m concentrating on writing only. I had to quit the job I had taken up mostly because it was taking much of my time and leaving me with a deficit. So I just wake up to write.

What genre of literature do you write? Guest: Poetry. But I’m working on some short stories of late after a workshop with a writer’s organization called writivism.

Have you authored a book? Guest: Nope. I’m sorry if you are disappointed. Yeah, I have a chapbook in a pdf form. But that’s not publishing. I was just trying to see how my works will be accepted by people and I’m glad the comments are positive.

Oh, alright. Wha…

Oh Lord O Mine

Oh Lord O Mine.
Hear me, Dear Lord, Oh Lord O mine
For thousand web has locked the loom
and Nation's bread is as from kine
and we sweep with a stick of broom.The wall has heard yet collapsed not –
Hence, the ear at home and of farm
hast falsely fooled us. What will not
will not, but this is yet our farm!We pick a stick of broom to sweep
yet pick we litter from soiled soil,
What feed upon a host but sleep? —
Even dream is a stream of oil.Hear me, Dear Lord, Oh Lord O mine,
For, what have we; what do we have?
Our fertile farm is fallowed, Yea
hast it like a sour Oguro.Hear me, Dear Lord,
Oh Lord, O mine.
Many pilot
lead to one plot...
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

"THIS IS HOW WE WAKE BY MORN" by Wakchin Nengak

"THIS IS WE WAKE BY MORN" by Wakchin Nengak
This is how we wake by morn  Again and again  As we fold our arms  And watch our dreams find solace in grave 
This is how we grief about  Our sire and chums  Razed by fire set by masked faces  On the night we went to a niece's  burial  In southern kaduna 
Lo, life only seems beautiful  It's nothing but grief  For our broken hearts make Our eyes turn springs that never let our cheeks run out of woeful moist 
As we stare into the world  As if it's horizon holds a trillion YES To our famished selves yearning for peace  that crises carted  Leaving us here as refugees  In our MURDERland 
See how we wake up and wish  That death stretches it's arms to oust us from this hellish sphere  Filled with sapiens that abhor peace
©Wakchin Nengak 

About The Poet.

Wakchin Nengak Godwin is a freelance writer,spoken word artist and poet from Plateau State.He writes about Violence,Love,Poverty,Love,Religious bigotry,Social injustice and…


I hope you are not writing it again?
Your nonsense that bewitches the sense,
You've borrowed twenty years to rehearse your madness
When it shall be filmed in the market square, who knows should send awareness.
I hope, I hope those shattered words on paper are not your horrible lies you call poems?
You think the world was welded as world from just word?
'Let there be...' came with a 'seen' and not a scene
And you have kept my eyes hanging that one day I shall see the edge of my nose,
When will the foolishness in you be slayed?
The ugly pen twister, twist, twist
And collect applauds as awards,
When your pocket cries, you face the wall and ask me why,
When starvation dissects your stomach, you see me shivering, and you think everyone is a poverty striker like you.
You've been a pain in my breath,
Let's meet by the rear side of the lantern when darkness resumes the night shift
And fight our last war of depart, face the wall and show…


(For the lost soul at the Remedial Centre...)I got hurt emotionally though "I can always control myself" when I feel this kind of passion for an unknown lost soul. I think life is to be lived to the fullest and not taken because of one situation or the other.
I always feel... "why haven't I come into her life when she was pregnant(not sure) or something... Why haven't I stay with her, make her cry on my shoulder, share her pain, tell her not to love me but 'breathe and continue living, love and continue loving, hoping, wishing all will be well while I stay by her side, not as a lover but a best friend, a closest confidant...'"
I wish I could, I swear, I wish I could be close to broken hearts and hurt minds, I wish I could make everyone smile, happy, feel really good. But when I don't know them, or when they don't come indirectly, how will I know them? It bothers me.Well, to you there, don't think love, affection, care and sort is …


What shadow would bridge the splatter splash of
angry guns, greeting the eyes of the boy —
Than the rattles from his haunting eye-sight'd?What soft hands would be as the tears he cried,
The comforting tears from -eyed- gushing bloods?
The eye candle would flame its blinks, that's all.Yet would it be; that he'd eye sighted would
hurt nor would shutting of blind nor soft hands
grace the last word of his murdered father.Nor would the State know the Bok+o victims
are dead to the breathing lives, for, they have
met death from cradle, what new gift is grave?Yet is it, that life values least of noth',
For, with thin air breathed are there accosted
Savagery to man, but the State mightn't know...
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace
Painting by Bruno Amadio (Wikipedia)


Dance.Each moon greets us with its own song;
The cool breezes and the night wind.
Each moon greets us with a new song;
The chilly heat of a night wind.It's the time to smile, laugh and live
Yet the time to think, live and die
But while we worry to... to live,
Let's live ev'ry moment to th' sky.Listen to the song of the moon;
The birds that will chirrup at night;
The birds, the chirrup in your voice;
The beauty of your smile at night.Dance is the still voice in ' blue sea —
yet the silent beauty at night,
Dance is the jingling beads of glee
and the saunt'ring mist through sunlight.
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

The Silent Deep Blue

The Silent Deep Blue.Deep blue silences like thin waves
The depth, lone, such blued solitude,
No earth beneath, nor sky above
No rustling leaves nor dancing trees.
Keep...k e e p breathing, keep...k e e p breathing,
And you, feel just your breath, your breath;
Ev'ry moment. Like ne'er again
Yet, like ev'ry time, lovely yet
fearful for a first timer. Such
solitude; It comes just once, once.
And you, diving in the blue wind
where fishes thirst for water and
flowers, they look good 'neath this blue...
A thousand memories extinct
as they came but one softly said
keep...k e e p breathing, keep...k e e p breathing,
And it's just your breath and heartbeat.Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace


Elebolo.She who earns money within the house with
her pot of sweetness. She is a night toy:
Money in her hand, her back on the bed,
That is all she knows; the wheel of the town;
Walking helter skelter like a lost smoke —
She knows not that her pot is a palace;
When burnt, it loses glory as Israel.Elebolo, who doesn't know what you
do when the sun is dead — when the moon sleeps.
You kine of Bashan, Adam's men whose head
is the foot has flooded you with streams of sperm
and your womb is a graveyard; burying
the lust of yourself in its barrenness,
Who does not know you're a shameless night toy?You can be bought with a note of bread, yet
pride in your -foul body that's- God's temple...
The horse is having an erection, get
ready for penetration, Gold digger.
Elebolo means prostitute in the Yoruba setting.Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

Sebotimo Elewa Sapon

Sebotimo Elewa Sapon.I have ten cups of rice
I cooked the ten cups of rice
I called home and farm to dine
before my house like as a King.I called on Awoko to sing
I called Ayandupe to drum
A thousand feet greeted my face
before my house like as a King.I called my wife before them Queen
I called my sons before them chiefs
I called my rag the golden robe
I called my-self a King, where's the throne?A thousand feet greeted my face —
yet I feared not that fear will kill me,
I just wanted to show them I'm in town,
Hence, called I feet I cannot ' shoe.They sat and smile, I melt like soft snow
They couldn't see me, yet they lay waiting
for food until the sun died on their head,
They burned charcoal where I once stood.
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

Fáríolódó Paríolódó

Fáríolódó Paríolódó.Who doesn't know hunger walks on the street?
Yet, Fáríolódó eats than a glutton.
The farm is a hell of heap, he can't work
yet he eats like a sentenced prisoner.Who doesn't know hunger 's a miracle?
Yet, Fáríolódó feels none, not even
the one Lazarus once felt. He has a
big head, an oily head shin'ng as the sun.Fáríolódó is not a son, not yet
a bastard. For, he has hands that can't work
and he has brain that he can't use — yet he
greases it with the oil waste of stolenAkara. Let's all hail Fáríolódó
Paríolódó, the one that can swallow
the mortar and pestle, but please tell him
that October won't rain and March reaps not.Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peacefootnote:
Fáríolódó means someone whose head is always well cut, no hair at all.
Paríolódó means someone who eats anything (everything) at anywhere.


If the sugarcoating
Of sugar isn't tasty as bee,
The waste from the use-in
Humming bees would make it be.
If the kinsmen are drunk
With gourds by them, like a soaked clay,
They have come in the sunk
Of greeting the faces stead the day.
Then if the sugar wears
Coat and hides behind the priest's cloth,
Do not think what he cares
Is oath, yet it is, of witch's troth.
Then if the sugar coyly smiles
To a wide mile that could convince,
Never forget his styles-
And Ablutions of the cat convince —
To the meat he wants to filch in the pot,
They could be sugar, we could be the pot.
.Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

The book, THE LIFE OF MAN is out. Steps to downloading the book

The Life of ManPls, read before going through the link
Download the bookGo through this link, you'll be directed to fill the boxes with your name and mail address. After that, you'll receive a mail telling you to confirm the subscription, after accepting the subscription, you'll receive a mail with the content of the link to download the book.
Go through the link, you'll see the pages of the book, you can chose to read online.... If you want to download, you'll see the download symbol on the top of the page, click it, then it's done.Go to your storage device/file manager and check... Then, read and share the gist....
If you have problem with downloading, kindly send me a WhatsApp message, +2348103675712

The book titled THE LIFE OF MAN is out

The much anticipated for book is out.

Author: Akinwale Peace Akindayo (Philip Peace)

Version: Soft copy, eBook
Type: Poetry compilation/anthology

 Concept: A brief philosophical concept of man

THE LIFE OF MAN About the Book.
About the Book.

Life tends to give its different slate to man in his existence and in this order, the precursor of man has a kind of myth in its traditional belief.
Howbeit, The Life of Man is to unravel some inquisitive mysteries about man's existence.

However, this book is from a view of the Author, as he has once said, "he will love to show people the kind of world he lives, he will not force his views to be believed and live as such as he beliefs."
The life of man is quite full of mysteries that circles mankind and it's of answers to unanswerable questions, at least to an extent of reasonable doubt.
Hitherto, he has compiled the anthology into a book...
However, one thing is to be noted, that the Author Akinwale Peace Akindayo (Philip Peace) …

Criticism is the basis for any outstanding work of art... — Rotimi Adeniyi (El Cypher)

Good evening, Readers

I'm indeed sorry for sharing my encounter From The Other Side earlier than now; the day has proved a cursed mistress and it has held my  shirt that I couldn't come online... I'm sorry.

So, today, From The Other Side, I have with me a great Sir and I'm sure you'll learn from his Sagacity. Keep following....

The Interview.

Can we meet you, Sir?

Guest: I am Rotimi Adeniyi with a popular pseudonym 'el cypher'

What genre of literary work do you write?

Guest: I venture into all genres of literature, but with a great bias for poetry and that's due to some reasons.

What kind of figure of speech do you often use or love using?

Guest: I can't basically mention or choose any but Metaphor can't be found scarce in my poetry.

What is your source of inspiration(s)?

Guest: Uhmmm...Virtually everything. But, levels at which they spur differ. This is because, any poet who has found his feet treading the soil of this nation would know there lies a lo…


Lost.What peace, so long as
the whoredom of shame
Yet, ' burdens of fate?Oh Time, touch its form —
You fleeting North Odd
in tempered melting.For, peace is the tide
of an eased yet stormed
sea; for what I see...I find no peace, for
it's as cake baked ice
in a true country.I find no peace, for,
The leaves of peace lives
in a true country.I find no peace, for
it has choke our breaths;
and we dare not breathe.Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

"When discouraged, I look at myself and say, 'you're not bad..." — Ayeyemi Taofeek Aswagaawy

Happy new Month, Dear Readers. It's such a great day to start with today. I pray and wish everyone a great day and a prosperous month. I wish you all well.

Today, FROM THE OTHER SIDE is here again. We have a special man with is today, he spoke on your radio weeks ago, start
You want to know him? You will, soon.
So, let's get to the interview in proper and meet the Sagacious Sage, he's not ugly! I think he's still single.

The Interview.

Can we meet you, Sir
Guest: I am Ayeyemi Taofeek Kehinde fondly called Aswagaawy (my penname). I'm an essayist and poet.

What part of literature do you write?
Guest: As earlier stated, I write essays and poetry. I write creative articles as well, particularly on personal brand development, culture and places, literature and relationship.

What drove your interest and captured your attention to writing?
Guest: Actually, I'm someone who enjoys scribbling words together to pass interesting and creative messages and informatio…