Skip to main content

LOST

Lost.



The time is young;
ill and painful.
the time is young
in clouds of ages.
there, a fresh blood
as but it may
be, and it's young.
and the age is
as a new tree
in an old ground.
sobs are silent:
painful, mournful.
that it comes not
with death. but death
while breathing — foul!
the girl is young,
not for your bed.
not a mother.

Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

Download audio, click here

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Men are Toys (are men really toys? Read)

Men are Toys.
I was sitting on my thought, when I heard
thin voices say "we should be equal with 'em."
...
When God first made man, He made him the head
and made one from him; his best supporter.
And Adam was man, did like a man does
and Eve was woman, she conceived as one.And the useless blood flows through all; -we dusts-
like to sullen streams. We're from one Black soil —
God moulded man from a Black soil — Yea, Nay?
Daughters of Eve wants to be the head now.
...
I was sitting on my thought, when I heard
thin voices say "we should be equal with 'em."
...
When God first made man, He made him the head
and made one from him; his best supporter.
They have risen now like Christ's on third day
to be head of their homes and make men toys.
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

save our souls

heavens opened and showers of blessing
became a sprawl of chewing bitter-leaf.
the whirlpool of storms swept the solid ground
and liquid air like a thief in the night.the rich and poor became a freezing heat —
a burning ice in their soaking heat of
doom as valuables dance in a sweep'ng flood.
houses are now drenched with what erect'd them.have they not lived on floodplains when the earth
denied its inhabitants thirsts — is it
blood that the soil wants or oceans of rain?
We have known pain already, save our soul.oh markudi/cross river.
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

Living

When I look at the little existence
between us and the cosmic drama plays,
I see the trench of absolute ne'er sought
and the wisp of smoke from a last candle.When I look at the little existence
I look through the fleeting time, jealous breaths,
And, you know — feeble gust of passing breaths;
The windows, playful kids and dear final end.I have no conclusion nor do echoes
of dying knells bother me, yet I'm moved —
that I could not move my breath nor can I
drink a cup of sorrow and loose my tears.So each passing day, I call a battle
and fight in ambush for a final end.
And idle tears...I'll honour their greet'ng sights
and watch life in a shag of cotton wool.Living.Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip PeaceImage: Pinterest