Yesterday, the sky was a worn old thing
piece of paper, crumpled and dusty
cast off. Uninvited.
Terrified of the smoke,
cringing away from the world
The trees punctured it with sharp ends
It cried for color
Today: Cup of coffee, scratching in the dark
Birds attempt to lift the heavy dawn
Morning doesn’t want to come
I sit on the floor and tape things together
Bits of bright yellow, a line that hasn’t been torn
a ray of nothing, an angle
Looking in my pockets, searching for whole things
A pebble, a hug, a pure strand of blue
A bird with bright feathers.
Tie them together with string
dab some glue in the corners
A sheet, a picture put together
from the little I have
Lift it up in this dark predawn.
“Here, sky, here.”
PS: Chinua is in Hungary and I'm struggling to find time to write, but poems come in the dark of morning, and the second installment of World Whisperer is up on Wattpad. Enjoy! And if you don't love reading things in serial format, not to worry, the book launch is on April 15.