Síngular Poet Bonganí Zungu
Síngular Poet Bonganí Zungu Poems
Far off in the future once upon—
A lone mbulu feather blown-swirl by the wind gently lands on the might-peak of a Hill.
Could there be more to see; or gaze gold's glitter glass part dug. A tremble-shift bone left no bone by bone or name. But a skeleton lain ancient craft. Dignity's harvest binds commoner and King, tucked tusk's all fine; sand in stone's turn-trail trunk;
...
Hear that cradle gush; silent
rhythmical march here unearthed.
By word world's wall, offering thus
the Nile no mortal name. Amun.
...
We couldn't; nor needn't; didn't.
None whispered; nor near mist-top mountain range.
We couldn't name the norm with such heating pain; would such survive. Around the edges thin, a deed in droughts be blown as thirds, the hurry-hurl of a hurricane our ancestors would wail the weep. And another.
The variation breeds and breathes a cycle of fossils dried. And duned a deed.
...
There she lay, on spacer stone
singing string. There is the pendant
float-biloba; the red of the ring—
the orange of Ur.
...
I will search for you through 千 worlds and 一万 lifetimes until I find you.
The way forth faced within.
In the rush of rolling currents;
...
Síngular Poet Bonganí Zungu Biography
Mæcenas, you, beneath the myrtle shade, Read o'er what poets sung, and shepherds play'd. What felt those poets but you feel the same? Does not your soul possess the sacred flame? Their noble strains your equal genius shares In softer language, and diviner airs.)
The Best Poem Of Síngular Poet Bonganí Zungu
Mapungubwe
Far off in the future once upon—
A lone mbulu feather blown-swirl by the wind gently lands on the might-peak of a Hill.
Could there be more to see; or gaze gold's glitter glass part dug. A tremble-shift bone left no bone by bone or name. But a skeleton lain ancient craft. Dignity's harvest binds commoner and King, tucked tusk's all fine; sand in stone's turn-trail trunk;
the ivory rain of another spoke the tongue of carved ceramic bead's far-flung hand left to tell of the Tsetse age; as cattle's mountainous moo. It was there.
I wish there was just a little more.
The feather's decay wouldn't hint what haven glory once flourished in there.
A lone digitata leaf blown-swirl by the wind gently lands on the might-peak of a Hill. It is here.
Síngular Poet Bonganí Zungu Comments
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4/25/2024 6:16:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
