Myth Of The Thunderstorm Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

A detonation across
a flamy, smoky sky,
fireworks

with confetti waved
amid ripped
rainbows
swallowed by a nimbus.

A wheeled storm,
veering off
a zigzagging corner,

slams on brakes,
as it screeches
and cruises
in a higher gear

on four legs, a horse
galloping,
as a dog groans
and barks, tracking it.

The horse whinnies
and brays, as sky
roars. Muscled into
a stronger beast,

and, punched into air
by a tornado's fist,

the horse, in Pegasus'
wings,
charges at the sky,

flying until it hits
sky's glass
ceiling rising higher
and higher
until it explodes
into shards.

(ii)

Through holes
in the glass,
thin and large streaks
of rain pour down
on earth,

as the flying horse
brandishes
in self-defense,

it's lance-like
sword of lightning
slithering into air,

until the horse swells
into a boulder,
dropping into a lake

with a loud splash
and a quaking beast,
a thunderclap

bawling out again
and again,
until the horse
finds the barking dog
to trail it,
as it gallops off

amid the dog's yelps
and groans
chewed and devoured

in a loud gulp
by the thunderstorm,
as it grumbles,
bawls out to mark its stop,

and the horse
passes the baton
to a lion
passing it further to a falcon
for a full-fledged hurricane.