A Hiding Monarch Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

In the heartland
of dwarfed shrubs
shedding off dry leaves
and feathery petals,

bright thistles beam
under a sun
pouring out rays
fueled by daisy clouds
still glowing
in cloaks of hard tinder.

Air spins brittle cinder,
sprays thick fumes
of smoke to pull out
termites, but only a giant
of a man jumps out,

grassy as the tightly-
woven bush
laid out on a flat mat
of earth, life plunging down
with him

beneath the dust
that molded him taller
than his head.

(ii)

How a monarch grows
taller than his hair
in dread locks,
but heavy with the spirals
of his climb

that flew him up to perch
like a titmouse
on the leafy branches
of a tree humming in the wind.

Showering him
with rays from fruits
in clusters

too heavy
and interwoven
to be picked one by one.

(iii)

He gazes down
at a green field
of anthills growing taller
than termite cathedrals,

finds a mole hole
he deepens
into a rat's fort.

But he's pulled out

into the sky-roofed
house of the world
too flat to be hidden
under a volcanic sun

to explode
with him, as he crawls out
of his deep cave.

(iv)

Drunk with power
at the peak
of Mount Autocracy,
a monarch
soon finds himself

crawling out of a rathole,
his cheeks
heavily bearded
with rat fur.

How all diehards
soon find themselves
creeping out
of deep narrow ant holes,

their torso bearded
with the dust
that molded them.