Cerulean Faith Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

With a blue iris,
my eyes brew faith
in a cerulean sky
that must turn azure
to seal a hug,

a murmuration
of starlings storming
in from the east
with sunrays

that cut with a lance
swung by a sun's
sturdy hand,

when nylon sheets of air
thicken into dark slabs
falling on man
to break his spine,

but no his faith
still rising on a tall pole
hoisting a leafy
fabric of faith,

the banana leaf
that shades
a nook for a tasting
party with a bananaquit.

Who told you
morning sprayed light
bounces in,
limping and tottering,

as light-drunk sun
in its hidden nest
shoots down
more storms of sun

to wrap up man
sheathes in dark cloaks
woven by inner
cliffs collapsing

on his brows to spill
more dust from baked
jagged rock?

(ii)

Who told you haze
from dust
erases a blue sky,
when it doesn't rain,
wings and tails?

Who told you
a slab of hot sun
from man's
furnace of sin

can break a lamb
blanketed in grass
under a roof
off reeds and creeping,

skipping grasses
cushioning
an underdog's life,

when times
grow taller than
a rising tornado
far above pylons


and stretched towers
to tumble down,
sparing bleating lambs
and whimpering rabbits?