By Suku Phakathi
Some days were orange,
From sunsets that painted my hope on the horizon.
Some days were yellow,
From laughter that spilled like sunshine on my shadows.
Some days were white,
From peace that whispered in moments of quiet surrender.
Some days were red,
From the blood of my wars, both lost and won.
Some days were just days,
I counted them like I was the calendar,
Marking time with the rhythm of breath.
Some days were lovely,
Dressed in memories that sparkled like stars.
The dark ones were cocktails,
Bittersweet sips of survival.
The white ones were beer,
Simple joys to soften my scars.
The rest were whiskey,
Burning truths that kept me alive.
