Arrived? Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Arrived at a piles of suitcases,
cartons of shoes shouting at passengers
to wear them for a soft walk
on marbled floor, leaving ribbons
and flowers of prints to rise from tiles?

Arrived at the stretching door
of waters diving back to sea,
waves rolling over waves, diving under each
other like scores of plaice wriggling with life,
air too thin for silver eyes and choking gills?

Fishermen are still casting nets over
layers of clothes that must be fished
and packed with prized dresses

and mist-thin linen for a trip beyond a sea's
sky wall broken by a storm's surprise
tap and knock at the door of a widening sea stretch,

this polished airport's floor wearing
the blue back of a glowing ceiling sailing
with poking aircraft of passengers,
each in their jet aisles hurrying off back home,
as tails of winds trail them?

(ii)

Or are we just waiting in a hanging hall,
window sills landing pads
for red birds taking off with boarded passengers

yet to climb down staggered ladders
of memory riding waves of nostalgia
back to where arriving passengers bark out

goodbyes to rainbows of folks
running out of breath from chopped-off nostrils
and sunken lungs,
bells of welcome still ringing in ears?