red—a stroke, out of my wrist pours a river; but I am
too scared to swim. in all my dreams I see the
turquoise sea spitting out stars, a constellation of dreams
whose fruits were plucked even before harvest.
a hand, like a sickle, stands at the door of my mind,
trying to pull me out of this poem
to make me a colour devoid of its light and warmth.

blue—something between dawn and dusk.
like the hand of God that sits in the sky and undresses the earth
leaving the birds homeless
you know, bird songs are more interesting
at night. because at night a song grows into a sea which
floats into bodies which become a canvas of broken colours.

grey—an ocean percolates from my eyes when I cry,
when the world stings me. a time when sadness spreads its arms
for a hug but decides a kiss is better. I hate kisses because they
are sentences stripped of their commas.

green—green means anything fresh. say the petals of hope
that leaks the debris off your brow. green should mean splay your wings and fly,
to husk the voices from your head but, sadly, colours do not speak.
they are bits of silent songs only stored in jars of wrinkled memories.

About the Poet

Ewa Gerald Onyebuchi  is a budding Nigerian writer from South east, who writes both short stories and poems. His short story, “Wearing my skin,” was shortlisted for the Ibua journal 2020 bold continental call: Imagining a new Africa. He is an alumnus of Osiri University’s creative writing masterclass taught by Chigozie Obioma. So far he has been published in literary journals and magazines like Ibua journal, africanwriter.com, whimsicalpoets.com, brittle paper, afritondo, nantygreens, penmancy.com, bengaluru review, asterlit.org and elsewhere. If he’s not writing, he is either taking a walk in order to clear his head of writer’s block or thinking of his writing.