A Tunnel Of Light Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

What cuts through nerves
to spin them
into a grumble in a muttered sleep
rattling with the warble of a trip

in a roaring lion's mouth
in an expanding bowl of light

to a deep crater
of night bleaching into showers
of midnight light

in the land
of a donkey-pulled sun
tugging in its crown tight?

(ii)

Perched on stacks
of crates,
these seaweed branches
and buffalo horn twigs

from elephant tusks
of marula trees, our flight
roars out of Namibia.

Flying like a weasel
on a bird's back,

this rumbling tree of an airplane
spots Solitaire
flung off in Namib's parched island,

a tortilla sea of shrubs
and dwarf roaring grasses.

I wave at bells
of trumpeted light

ringing across the desert
of my bleeding farewell
dripping off
red clouds that swallow us.

(iii)

I wave woven ribbons
from stubby fingers
at corridors of sun

sprayed and splayed
over tan meadows of clouds.

Over beige and cream hollows
air-flanked by floating
cotton masses of clouds

shifting on thick mattresses
on flowing beds.

Night weaves night
melted into another feat of daylight
with no tail of dark cloud

until night breathes out light
in an air tunnel of light,
as we land, roaring into Sweden.