Maturity Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

In its cloudy
chrysalis, a crawling
dry stick
on the ochre stem
of a tree branch,

a swollen caterpillar
hangs itself
on a twig, and tears
through elastic air
into life amid

wiggles delivering it
to life's cream
thrust and silver air.

It swells in its puffy
alabaster space
over a breeze-fanned
hearth to warm it
up, as head
hangs above body,

wing after wing
flipped out
slowly, slowly
on wheels of a butterfly,
rolling it on
the tree trunk

for a flight, as it creeps
and skips as a test,
taxying on a light leaf
to take off.

Into life it dives,
waves of a cream
and silver sea
of air hurling it off
to fly with the bright
flames of a bouncing

burgeoning
butterfly, the winged flash
and splash
that spins and rolls

in lightened air
of gossamer fiber
carrying its wheels to gyrate
and rise like a tornado.

Spilling pollen
with spidery brushes
on lips of flowers
to spit out posterity,

as pupa ripens
on another plant.

(ii)

Fly butterfly, O fly
into new sprays of hue,
cocooning

yourself into a new
caved hideout
underneath a leaf
in your castle,

a walled-in nook
to shelter
you, a soldierly butterfly,

your only wings
growing
into gripping masts
and sails,
on your ship's deck,

while you stay
in a sailor's cabin
in your full
wing span and brightened
colors to carry you

through flames of sunrays
and fires
of stars

to float your way
through beds and furrows
of a garden,

flowery vines blowing
into trumpets
of calla lily
and amaryllis,

as it dances
and flies
over bright hills

to flash new light
in its full-fledged
flame of a frame
spraying posterity

with stars flying
beyond
rolling horizons
of sun and moon.