A Cloud Of Silence Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Like snow stumbling, falling
faltering and flipping over
through throatless tree leaves
to the mouthless ground,

a feathered mass of silence
has plumped down
on the seat of an earth flipping out

tentacles of silence, as quiet
reptiles gulp down softly
sighing and clicking voices.
Ovals and balls of silence
hang down choked tree branches

beaming with smooth and ruffled
plastic on a dark floating
river of quietness
emptying noiseless waters

into dark floating lakes of night
devouring whimpers of mosquitoes
and low jumping croaks.

(ii)

All melts into a mouthy, wallowing
clay floor of drifting earth
swallowing footprints without wheels.

Silence's wings had flown into
a mouth-sealed kitchen, cleaving
a thousand chats, as stacks
of dishes rolled through scrubbing hands.

Only quiet ants now sip and lick
sugar and nectar and grease,

from fat-lipped cups and glasses
hushed by their crystal skin.

Stooping and kneeling dishes
leave their host bodies bitter
with stony grumbles, and cordless
muttered and muted rattles,

strings which slow breezes
pluck and brush with nails
and plectra from fingers of wind.

(iii)

Through a window flipping out
silent slabs to a dying world,

a hissing night gulps down crickets,
snakes growing with grass
devoured by a dark carpet

of silent shadows, sky's starless
umbrella swooping down
on green rugs of sleeping grass.

And ink and onyx weaves of silence
spin a hollow and thick cloud
of words and songs swallowed in nests.