A Chateau's Gate Poem by Felix Bongjoh

A Chateau's Gate
(i)

Out of air's
traffic rumble
and staccato
of jalopies,

blasting through
the loud mouths
of twisted
potholes and deep
gorges,

I knocked
softly
at a chateau's gate,

but heard
no life,
only twittering

birds talking
back
in muttered notes.

Only chirps
and lowered
tones
of shrieking

and screeching
breezy owls
bounced softly across,

the screaming
piha striking
its soft chord

in a thin
undulating voice
perched
on a whispered,
cutting peak.

And a striking
devouring
mantis' explosion,
only silence

creeping out
of a red-mouthed
volcano.

(ii)

I knocked again
with a scrubbing
sliding palm

hurling out
my louder voice,

But heard
only the low cheep
and chatter

of sparrows losing
their voice
to a soft whistling wind

thinning out
into a slithering
zephyr
melting into
tentacles of sound.


(iii)

But heard
only the stuttered
and smooth-

flowing trills
of toads
jumping at my pierced
ears deafened

by the spears
and needles
of their voices

sinking
softly through
skin and flesh

of a caved-out
attention
in flying wings,
but heard nobody
behind

the loud gate
clothed in silence,
full of bloat,

a thousand voices
screaming out
softly at me
silence is dressed

in the loudest
voice
of a pistol shrimp

and a thunderous
boom
with no mouth,

but a rainbow's reedy
flute burning
with narrow throat.