POETRY| COLOURS; the colours a man loves; colours and their representation ; types of colour

What colour is man,
he's the colour of a parachute - falling,
from a timing plane,
he was plain -the colour of how he came,
he turned brown when he touched the ground,
he forgot the plane from which he fell.
Man is Parachute,
was plain,
but journeyed home brown.

© Jesunifemi Olatunbosun 2025


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

INVENTORS ARE MAD MEN: ESSAY ON JEKPHRASA

Image
Most popular blogpost in 2025 so we decided to republish it in case you missed out  INVENTORS ARE MAD MEN  What exactly is madness in the context of this essay that dropped in my mind upon waking during the dawn of this day August 10, 2025. From the perspective of my favorite poet Edgar Allan Poe;  " Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence."  To be mad is to attain an excellent loft of intelligence in this context as I believe man is unable to attain the loftiest intelligence because he is not God. Well, I shall agree that the question is not yet settled but let me ask you, what is your own definition of intelligence. In the typical society in which I have lived a decade and seven years, intelligence is grossly synonymous to obedience. According to an anonymous quote "Obedience is not intelligence; it is the silencing of it."  We are to obey the voices that tell us what to know, and what...
Read more

Red roses, Red Christmas (an immigrant's documentary) - fiction

Image
 “ I shall pass”  that was the last line of the poem the lanky latin guy in a red jacket read. His hands twitched on the microphone’s stand like he meant every single breath in those words. He tapped repeatedly with his shoes on the red carpet. The carpet was dusty, I saw it puff brown wipsy slingshots under his shoes. He stopped reading, the audience clapped. I only bit the edge of my lips, stunned by the bold expression of extreme sorrow on his face which the audience didn't see or refused to see. He dropped his head to the side smiling like an actor forced to act a script. I picked my red Christmas hat and exit through the back door of the auditorium. A young lady called out to me when I was a few meters out. I looked back turning only my head, the rest of my body wanted to go somewhere else. Where? I didn't know. She came holding a few copies of a book in her hands. “Merry Christmas" she said smiling. At sight, I found her energy too appeasing. She came close, her eyel...
Read more