Felix Bongjoh

Shisong-Bui, Cameroon
Felix Bongjoh
Shisong-Bui, Cameroon
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Grieving Under The Sun

(i)

Umbrella sky
waving a canopy
in the hands of a numen.
Wallowing
in a cream trunk of air.

What flapped wings
of bleached clouds
hang on, arching over
on the horizon,

crawling southwards,
as the sky sinks
to the bottom of a drift -
a powder under-sky.

A bird rises again
from the phoenix ashes
of a cloud
to breathe out sun

held by the hands
of a bobbing, shivering ray.

(ii)

I let your silver
and gold indigo
stretch spiraling arms
of rainbow sparks

to shower me
with strokes of light.

And flitting bird tails
brush me
with staggered songs
of sun
tromboned into my ears.

O bells of rays,
expand into large-mouthed
flowing trumpets
to buzz and ring

through tight metal doors
from a diving wind.

I sit on a bench,
as rolling waters lick
and kiss my toes.

I sit and stretch out
my rusty self
on an unfolding arc of life.

(iii)

Under squiggles
of hue creeping through
air hollows,

fill me and stuff me up
with a storm-borne breeze.

Cover me
with hunter green
dark blue blankets
of rolling sea

skidding off shores
to land on me,

when I'm overboiled
by a falling sky
flipping out sun's umbrella
to engulf me

with mushroom gills
sprouting fast
to squeeze me

into the tightened space
of a wince and snivel
for wounds that grow
petal-crammed flowers,

as life jumps back
headlong
into an eclipse
in a volcano's womb.
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