Hymn To Fallen Crusaders Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Being part of a caravan
Makes you know there
Are no true orphans, as
Sky and Earth are close

Nests, from which we are
All made - from dust, clay
Churned to caress us, as
We walk, rain flushing

Out its temper to cool
Off parched hearts, and
Prepare a new home in
A sky we face, lying urns

In final beds, bare earth
A most soothing mattress
Onto which we're sealed,
Hugged by clay, as we

Become part of the parent
From whom we sprang,
The sky a most reverent
Sheet shining its stars on us.

(ii)

Who is father or mother
Does not matter; only
A dicotyledon sprouting
From unshaved earth

Into a single grain holds
The ball, whole, an unbroken
Lump of earth, the round
Head of every being, a king

Or humble subject draped
In the same clay to face
The sky sheathing our chests
Without a desecrating touch.

Earth, globe of globes, fists
Rounded for a grab of lumps we
Mold everyday feeding mouth,
Filling heart that never dies.