The Color of Time

The Color of Time

a poem by Onigah, Augustine Odido

Dead Hive, 2016. Ginger Cochran, Photography

Dead Hive, 2016. Ginger Cochran, Photography

I am sitting on the street between my soul and my heart, and the mind of my being is smiling at the spirit of my essence and kissing the colour of time. The blue sky looked as though it was at war with the sea and my spirit wandered upon that moment officiating in fairness the battle between these ancient friends . Their friendship had gone sour. The sky now feels that the sea owes her, and the sea feels likewise. Their romance now brings forth their blues. The sky has vowed not to bring down water from its house, and the sea has vowed not to send water to the sky as well. Their battle is not detrimental to any of them. The sky won't fall if the sea doesn't send water to it. The sea won't dry up if the sky refuses to send down rain, but my soul is in disarray. My spirit is begging for these two lovers to come back to the friendship that there had. My spirit is reclusive, lost with all forms of imaginations, because their loving friendship was my light. The season is no longer green, nature is now blue. Animals and humans are set on war because the sea and the sky has refused to love themselves again.   

In all of these nature upset, my soul sees only the colour, indigo. Indigo possessed my soul and saw beyond my body, it tells more of the hate that the world now calls love. Indigo tells me of royalty and sadness. It went through the tales of Romeo and his Juliet, and the gory moments that described their time. Indigo has come to remarry the sea and sky, telling them that blue is not enough. The sea must not only think of it sufficience, but  the lack of the blossoming flowers  that withers when it is in mutiny with the sky. Indigo, transcends the sky to meet the sun and moon, to tell them how not to shine their lights.  

My body is now weak, because of the colour of the room. My eyes couldn't trust the colour of the words I heard taking flight through my window. The King has deflowered the sixteen year old maiden in regal colours. Her eyes were out of her body, raining tears of curses to the moments she was taken from her conventional pride. She tells her ordeal to her father, and he reacts with no compassion toward his daughter, all he could think of is the purple robe he is to wear should his daughter take in. I am crippled to the dust of my thought, as green takes up life again. The goats now grin to the field hugging each other but with suspicion. The fear of scarcity has made them enemies even in plenty. I am giving up the voice of my conscience to the green papers that demands I steal the hopes of everyone in my district. Indigo, then is the only voice of reason that embraces the primitivity of my soul.

Indigo is the colour of time. Indigo sits between my eyes and sees the beginnings of my ends. Indigo.

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Onigah, Augustine Odido is a young Nigerian student of Philosophy in the University of Calabar, Calabar. “I am a lover of all that has life and has had life.” - Onigah

To read more work by the author, please visit onigahtalking.blogspot.com.


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