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THE NIGERIA BOY for Taiwo Olalere Oluwabunmi (Premier)


for Taiwo Olalere Oluwabunmi (Premier)

We are the boys from the brown roof republic
where images of brown gold withers not —
yet, it covers us with a glimpse of me...
and memory. a boy is like the sun
that shines all day, yet sleeps without snoring
because the sun is meant to shine not ever.
and this same boy is like another man
who has lost its golden ray because his
cloth is a wet land while his body is hot
from the afternoon struggle with murmurs
of lean'ng shadows as o' dry leaves. like a young —
and average Nigerian fertile 'manhood.'

To end up in this suicidal State is
living in a room of cigarettes with
no smokes yet grayhaired like a wandering cloud
is the light of cosmos upon his black
secret hairs. and he is the cigarette
that doesn't smoke. he is man over there!
you can laugh the surges of white ocean
or the slap of traveling white rivers.
you can smile as the mountain lilies and
smile wide like the Lion's den, you can roar
as a wounded tiger but your boyhood
is in the stroking of your secret hairs
on sleepless nights, sailing through a river
of thought while looking at an unexisted
morrow because you're your tommorrow.
and you're the dawn morning you see because
your face is in the picture of that empty 
frame, in your mind. friend, ...picture... in your mind.

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

Happy Birthday, Olalere.


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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