We were only issues when our Nation
birthed us. before two bodies met, civil
warred for many moons, and when the earth greet'd
our skins, we ran with them in unknown toss.
If the winds of Power toss us as the
winds on tempest stillness, and their Affairs
run from our budget; either of Broom or
Umbrella, we'll toss with them, — twas our choice...
We have been running without a chaser —
what chases us is the future, not the
past. so asked I myself, why do we run?
the North answered with a bang and part-East —
With yelling shrills of clamour without cause.
the South anthems in rich poverty and
the West clamours in talking emptiness.
if we're whispering leaves, we'd bade peace bye.
And we're not whispering leaves yet silent,
and we're not likeness of perfection nor
preservative of sepulchres. and we
have known our course, we have known commotion...
Akinwale Peace Akindayo