And Me? Poem by Felix Bongjoh

And Me?



(i)

You, the mighty mirror
before me, a beam.

You whined
you spun
and swirled

from threads
of patchy clouds

into a lion-winged
shrinking bird
in tit's feathers

and your wings
expanded
with stroking winds.

Hatched out
of yesterday's egg

on breezy swinging
breath and sighs,
you chirped into you

incubating you
in the pit
tossing you out

of every morning's
needle head,

the pinch that flies
you to sun's yolk.

(ii)

As for me, sun
spat night
into my face.

I shrug off myself
from the cloud
of a crow preening itself

in wiry spirals
of smoke
and balls of dust.

I broke out
of a mirror of me
by a lake,
where a hill

stood still on its head
below beaming water,
its running pace,

faster than a wind's
whistle still

blowing uphill
on a rooted rock.

(iii)

Stars in ellipses
crashed
on my cornea

barely carrying
pointed torches

to pierce through
dark slabs of day,

with a civet cat's lens
hurling out arrows
of light to punch a dot.

But sun spits
at my face
and sits on my eyes
like goo.

Wednesday, June 24, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: feeling,light,shadow
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Felix Bongjoh

Felix Bongjoh

Shisong-Bui, Cameroon
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