By Marvellous Mmesomachi Igwe
Bone-white night. Dead world. All about me, a shimmering river of silver, knife-lit lake of quiet.
I have opened my eyes into an inferno of colour. Caribbean sky. Broad leaves and their lemon gaze.
Of the gilded day. And the dark skin of a midday shade. The yawns of morning, birdsong.
Once, you’d thought the world no longer mysterious, had left ajar the door of your grief.
Once, you’d understood the workings of everything, or at least, claimed you did.
Even death—at inception, touches a body, and in denouement, is lifeless in the earth.
But look—the plantains and bananas are ripening. And there is a garden
of riotous flowers blossoming. And the grave is no longer a grave.
BIO:
Marvellous Mmesomachi Igwe is a budding poet from Port Harcourt, Nigeria. He has been published in Arts Lounge NYC, Poetry Sango Ota amongst others. You can find him daydreaming, listening to his favorite singer Lana del Rey, or writing about limerence, melancholia and the mundanities of existing. He tweets @mesomaccius.