or asking myself why we love
Sinking boat / you are my terminal / collateral damages are peoples / recovering from a virus / heartbreak is a kind of / palace / burnt to ashes / the virus sells you to / the devil / & call it love / you end me / held hands with me / & gave answers to my body / sugar in my bowl / a kind of wild thing / bruising my fingers / & later you became a foreign song / filling my soul with sorrow / you ask about the zephyr / & how gentle it felt / the night you left / & I tell you the wind breaks / but you do not know / love isn’t an object / and so was what I felt
I want to tell how I became a man
frozen like a prayer / a photograph / cornered in God’s lens / a bird whispers / in the dark / in my solitary / with a bottle clutched in my hand / it says love is a sinking boat / rescuing another
Only the gone / is gone
but love does not know that the gone
is indeed gone / it does not know when to stop
& how it started /
it does not say / I am an accident / it says / I am a myth.
Akinwale Peace Akindayo (aka Philip Peace) writes from a very small room in Ilorin, Nigeria. His poetry has been featured on Barren Magazine, Ngiga Review, African Writer and elsewhere. His essays and Nonfictions are anticipated to appear online soon. He is Peace Akinwale on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.