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our population is just plus 1.

they loved to the square of infinity
but her family's norm is religious
and their modern fossil rots in sadness —
because he's not their type nor does he have
a big pocket yet with an handsome dream...

her fam'ly isn't hungry, just famished
and perhaps wants to make a name with rich
homes. but she wants to live and not to die
but her father writes her off when she eloped... —
her father whom she loved before her birth.

he did her final rites like a ram's death,
hanged a wreath on her image as of soft
curling smoke in the cloud. her father did.
who buries the living to live as dead?
who digs six feet, 2 yards for the living?

norms does, live long norms, kill all the living.
norms does, live longer as methuselah.

she developed brain tumult, lived a pain-
filled eye, who will not die after ' buried?
think i well, i'll sink in a blink of an ink
and lay a good example for people.
i mean, i'm wrong at a wrong place to teach.

i will not kill but i will kill myself.
norms cannot kill me, i will kill myself.

he loved her, he will not kill, he will die.
let the song sing and drums beat, let beads dance;
norms did it all, the fam'ly is broken,
see, our population is just plus 1.
our norms that hurt us, is just a genius.

Prepare her iced body, this is just a
parturition of a new birth, yea, death.
no siren, just eat and be glad at her
resting place, yet she's not resting, she's mourned
by her lover, norm is just a genius.

and our population is just plus 1.

Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace
Image source: Google


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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