Felix Bongjoh

Shisong-Bui, Cameroon
Felix Bongjoh
Shisong-Bui, Cameroon
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Hug Me

(i)

Do no jump off
the sinking,
cartwheeling cliff

galloping down
on wheels
of one-way death,

when fog has stitched
and hemmed in
the last piece
of life's satin fabric

slipping off
into wallowing flames.

Chewing off hairs
into ash
and white dust
turned smoke
with wind that paints
life into mist,

the body without bones,
but waving light
holding only a chunk
of coal night,

flesh in cream air
of sprayed creeping moon.

(ii)

Fall back to my chest
hairy like a bush.

Grip and weave braids
through its grasses
building a nest,

a throbbing machine
holding life's fledgling,
as man is born again
through the diving storm

in air's drifting womb
holding air
with the claws of staples
stamped to stay.

Do not jump off
the cliff. Stay in the brushing
bush of a hairy chest,

air grown into the clarinet
whistling into your air
with the flowing whimper
of its slippery voice.

Stay in the wind-brushed
stalks and stems
of my stiff hair,
turning you
into a hunter who strokes

and brushes and rubs
a whimpering agouty.

Let the animal go,
swimming in the air
of its wheeled legs,

as it scampers off
back to life
after tasting
death's saw-edged razor:

Do not jump off
the galloping,
somersaulting
cliff riding you down

rocky staircases
into the glowing hands
of death
without a stroking agouty
to remember you:

Stay in the bush
of my chest for a deep hug
catching new life
in the air-filled legs
of a fleeing agouty

riding back to a stretching
sprawling field
growing bushy flowers
on my chest
to stroke you
with an agouty's fur of love,

a whispering pillow
buzzing with the bee
sipping life's glowing nectar
red like a crimson dawn.
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