Felix Bongjoh

Shisong-Bui, Cameroon
Felix Bongjoh
Shisong-Bui, Cameroon
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Bird Song For A Search

(i)

The whizzing arrows
of a daffodil
and fire ball of sun
tossed to fly through

with cream hairs
and corn feathers
land slowly
on the plastic melting skin
of burning panes.

The soft rising lilt
of a warbler's tone -
a staccato voice -
falls on windy doors

like stones tumbling
down a quarry's slope
to touch down

with a plop swallowing
dragon fly wings
of a flying splash.

(ii)

It takes me climbing
rocky undulating hills
and mountains
building more mountains
of question marks.

As we search through
a maze of cream
and dark distances
with no milestones.

And dig deep
into the mole holes
of hidden nests.

While chills take jabs
at my pierced skin
growing feathers of scales,

as I sit in my couch
flying with birds,
skipping on springs
with the cicadas

under the sun-filtered tree
that out-chants
a wind's buzzing bee hum.

(iii)

The bird pours out
its croaking song
like the flat thick strings
of a splashed cataract,

it's spread silver wings
flapped to cackle
from its widened mouth.

Shot out by a notch
of windy sun.
A bobbing flashlight
of raking rays
scooping out no gem chick,

but a breeze
of broken whimpers
we did not hear
in the tree
touching a window
with a woven hug.

How I swim in rays
of sun flowing
in to hug me with an jewel
of a key I'd lost
to devouring decades.
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