Marcel Sugba

He stood like a willow tree. All weeping limbs — like he could be swept away by a breeze. The set of his shoulders makes him look melancholic. Just two decades on this young waif of a man but he had the energy of a soul needing rest. His mouth is oft in a grim line. His eyes, however, are a contrast to his stature. The glint in them reveal a mind always roiling. Overturning this thought and that. Searching. Witnessing. Questioning, always questioning. Blue and almost electric, like the uniform he’s clad in.