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The Boy From The Sky.

for Bakare Oluwasegun

Boy, have you been told of colours —
of petals, that you're not one of 'em?
boy, have you been told of the night,
that the sky heard your shrill 'neath one?
boy, have you seen the thin prints of
your palm, that it's unlike mother's?
boy, have you heard your voice lately;
in the waves of shrill and gentle
tempest of silence— the mutter,
the heart murmur as Israel's day,
the tone, lost in your barytone...?
have you, have you, have you heard it,
that your selfhood is unveil? and
you know, we free-ly freeze images
and copy and paste emotions
on last birthdays, and...your selfhood
weeps in the African Black boy.
you're an idle tree yet with it
are whisp'ring leaves, and you have gone
to th' world as Ajala travels,
and, your identity isn't
on your palm, and your voice is lost
beyond where you've sought it yet they
are in you, greeting your face in
the whirlpools of your wishes and,
no one as you once lived this sky,
you 've come to live, from heaven,
with differ selfhood, manhood, being.
and you have come to live like one
in udying living of 'earth-lys.'
hold your breath, boy, find your reason.

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