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Showing posts from October, 2017

i am me, because you are you.

We came together and we fought
yet we smile at ourselves with tears —
ev'n as whirlpools of water. they
said freedom 's a kind of prison
and I know, we are born for'ver.
we were born together and we
were Black as the coal, ev'n as the night;
the skin of the night 's what we wear.
we had a dream, 'n' a pain within;
we had this love, 'n' the hate within.
yet we could live since we couldn't die
and we made war as we made peace,
and we froze images as sweet
mem'ries, we were two of a kind;
that I need you, and you need me.
so we blissfully kill ourselves
and marry ourselves, because the string
is thinner than an unseen trench:
the chord, the love, ev'n the hatred;
for I can't live without you, so
are you and it is not unwell.
we could be of a mother, yet
my tongue is gibberish to you
so 's yours a beautiful nonsense —
cos' we're different, and I am me
because you are you, oh Black Fellow."words from the innocent mind&quo…

i am drunk.

If I should taste a sip from my
drunkenness, I am not undrunk —
but the world is blind, though they see,
they believe it not. yet they do.
for, the truth 's a daily mirror
but they wear no face, ev'n to th' night.
yet their secrets lies in the night.
creepy men, gentle tigers, what
have eyes not seen? the lips can't tell.
so they say I am drunk, because
the truth is drunk, 'n' the lie is tame."words from the innocent mind"
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

you're my music

you're my music.
for Happiness.If my lone drunkenness would make me drunk,
would it push my thigh against your sole wish?
if i wander in the road o' ecstasy,
like the rumble of few nine clouds, would i
forget thee in the middle of my long'ngs?
i am a tree, you're th' murmurs of its leaves.If my actions means nothing, is it not
in your empirical that i beauty?
ev'n in your pleasantness as the blue moon.
would i forget you when your fine make up
washes off like the cleanse of brown mud from
knitting needles, thin as thy eyelashes?Nay, they say what would be, would it not be?
yet, would i not be a pleas'ng frankincense
when your nice juice tastes sour? would i not be
the air that rolls o'er mountains and valleys
for a blest of neighbourliness with you?Ye am i, i am but nobody yet
myself, and in thy friendliness am i
not drunk? i am not. but thy goodness ev'n
thy affection glow in the sensory
of my music. if you're not my music
would dirges be the r…


The country is plagued to a world
of theft; with their bangs and steel, they
steal people's land and precious lives.
we Will to leave something behind
and anticipate death, yet th' Will
shouldn't be of brave cowardice
cos' what we left will follow us
like the soil that covers our secret —
our grinning skulls. life is a reward
and a punishment: because we
won't forget their deaths if we live.
but God is a butterfly, cos
we can hurt it by stressing ourselves
yet, it won't be hurt — not a scratch.
life is war. the people — poison."words from the innocent mind"
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace


     My mother is an African mother, so I am an African child. My father is an African father, so I am an African child. We're Africans, because birth wasn't really nice. What if it isn't nice, I think this birth itself is a genius.
I enjoy living here: knowing the mentality of co men - co black men. And I enjoy living here, knowing these norms, these norms, these norms...

     You know there are some norms that aren't meant to be preserved, listing is needless. But we know.

We know that we don't need to fight, so we kept our blade sharp and neat.

We know that we can marry each other, so we kept our seeds from themselves, in the name of Faith, in the name of Marks - tribal marks. We did all these, the family is great, isn't it?
We know that we can make ourselves, so we choose an external hand, maybe an underground system so as to run ours, and you know what? It successfully became a failure. So, they now seem a terrorist to us, Osama would have been b…


Man has an underlying need to discover, identify and unveil the reason for living, which is synonymous to self actualization and the only way to live like this is Living Rightly.
We need fulfilment, we need to live rightly, we need to be happy, we need to really say, I have lived well!


Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money.
Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health.
And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present;
the result being that he does not live in the present or the future;
he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived."
– The 14th Dalai Lama

There's just one thing holding you from living your right life, from living the way you want to live, from knowing that capability, for unveiling that potential and that one thing is you; the prison of your mind.

If you don't create life for others, you can't create life for yourself. because if you creat…


You only came, to say goodbye.
i know you're lonely without me
life is beautiful when you're nigh —
my heart feels th' sky you're with me.

And it was a first — love — feeling
under a clear afternoon sky.
love is a sickness not sicking
this moon is sink'ng a bitter sky.

I've turned our love into your name
and i call it when the rain falls
and when the sun sets like flames
of harmattan. we 've touched our balls.

i still love you if i'll hate you.
but you can go, while i stay here;
in this piece of paper, the blue
is sleeping. but i'm jealous of it here —
with you.

these writings are what you left; what
i hung on the only frame in
my room — the lonely picture frame.

"words from the innocent mind"
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

innocent girls.

innocent girls.
Clattering noises rambling a travelling air —
these pupils' solos are Nightingale's;
ten times ten is a hundred, hundred times
ten is a thousand. innocence is worn
as a cloth. nay, as a precious rag greet'ng
the door. the teacher speaks in silence — as
an hollow air. afraid of attraction.
when the wall gecko scrabble on th' ceiling,
the pupils — their minds, leap a wounded dog
and they're calm again when it tenses down.
they count fingers and toes: two twos is four,
two plus two is four. ten tens is ' hundred...
'n' when they came, their shoes was as soldier ants'
because the pupils wear deadness 'ready.
and they didn't sob. their masking clothes cov'red
them head to neck. and gruffly, a voice roared...
and they matched into a rattling engine.
and they were taken. i think teachers ran...
so they left, they love to live 'n a desert
so they were chanced. away from their people.
Chibok girls b'came tender baby flowers
that wither out of s…

i sent my lover on a trip

i sent my lover on a trip.
I sent my lover on a trip —
far from nigh Nile to Atlanta.
i no longer see neither the
jealous sun nor the envious moon
cos they rest in her eyes, 'n' she's gone.
i hate this road, i loved it once;
a stretch of blue waters part us.
shadows are indistinct, yet we
see beneath a blue moon; i mean
we see, in my faint memories
and in th' pictures of empty frames.
i miss you. because i ne'er did.

"words from the innocent mind"
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

everything is music

everything is music.

When i look at their faces,
the stones start rising like a
flame. it is what the world sees
and what the blind eye can feel
but nothing is what we did
cos' everything is music.

When i look at their faces,
i don't see anything. pains
are just lines behind the smiles
and sorrow...isn't that the
melancholic melody?
cos' everything is music.

I mean, their faces wear pains
that the blind could see. we see
them but they sing on these pains.
and when i see a beggar,
Asa does justice with music
cos' everything is music.

I care, that's why i looked 'way,
because they are somebody
that's why i couldn't see them.
they've turned their pains into songs
that we listen mildly 'n' cry
cos' everything is music.

We've turned their pains into songs
that i see faces in songs:
melodic dirges, beggars' alms...
'n' some music gets you soulful
and you cry in shreds of steam
cos' everything is music.

"words from the innocent mind"



The full moon is in my house:
the shadow of myself is you
and I am the shadow of you too.
i am the sky, and you are the full moon.

The half moon lits in my house:
i am like your o'er brooding thoughts;
that when you want to fall, I hold you
and you hang on my breath that i ne'er breathe.

Darkness is in my light house:
i am like your lost soul at night,
when you come back, you stroke yo' secret hairs
and look at me wryly. oh my poor soul!

The sun sets its rising glints:
you are the standing ocean sun.
you are the glints of the bright yellow,
that makes me warm in this rolling cosmos.

There's a friend in my body:
that blazes in me like the sun
and send warm signals to cozy rains.
you hear my secret silences all night.

There's a murmur in my dust:
not the murmuring dry age leaves;
but the resentment of my struggles
and the speaking shadows of my silence.

because i am man. i am nobody.

"words from the innocent mind"
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

Passenger (For Chinua Achebe)


For Chinua Achebe

The sun withdraws its yellow eye
and you gave in slowly to a
new dawn of old parturition;
it has been known, when man closes
his last eye, he has kicked th' bucket.

His Black Soul, who was his black boy
has lived on this hill of shedd'ng rocks
'n' our soul has left us, when he did.
were we not to live as memories?
we're pilgrims in the credo of living.

What essence does he speaks, if not
from him? we have barrels of wine
and our cups are swept by the wind,
yet we drink all our passion and
hold our knuckles against our fist.

Was it not here, that things fall 'part?
and we close both eye, to see 'is eye —
and we think of thought, and what 's left.
is it not unwell, that while we
entrust ourselves here, we're pilgrims?

Beloveds, wander as the cloud
ev'n at its silent rumble. the
constellations is in our palm,
are we not the Black Boy he left?
life rests not in shroud, but its breath.

You're gone inner and outer, gone.
no moon, no ground, no sk…

Poetry Trilogy: early mourners

early mourners i

Before the morning crow is set and the grey dew drops in thin shreds, i recall my mournful longings and the melody of sadness; that which came with my pleased longings..
'N' on those pure greens, with sacredness of natural breathing. i thought out; that these drops washes 'sterday in the pelting of melting snow — so do i, in my longing wish.
and when i rise while i rest there, my soul had left me in myself. and my thought longs in nearness, that, ev'n a dew will fill my basket... may God console morning mourners!

early mourners ii

Voices made me cry; their cacophonies and when i was tears. when i was those drops of knitting needles, when i, nobody. yet still. i still live. and when i hear their voices like the pant of a crying dove, and when i flash-back t' when my soul left me. why will i not cry as if they ne'er were? when my fa├žade fades like a rinse of muds. so why will i n't wish; that which i once felt my foe should ne'er feel. and pain still exist yet joy doe…

How To Improve Your Writing Skills

How To Improve Your Writing to become a better writer.

     Often time, writers find it hard to create emotion in the heart of their readers because they found it hard to bring out the mystery and mastery in themselves. It is not gain saying that writing is truly not a simple thing, yet, it pose an easy resolution and encodes a simple task to those that take it as one. I.e, if you take writing as a simple task, so be it. And if you take it as a deal with much ado, you'll find it difficult than it is.
Writing isn't 'just' about putting words together, it is about putting (mysterious) emotions and perhaps, 'unrelating' emotions to create interpretations for the present and everyday living. The course/cause for writing doesn't reside in how the writer writes, it solely depends on the writer and what he wants to share with the reader. Constructively, how writers write is also considered but the message is the most preeminent and its essence is the most …