Roots Of Quivering Tombs Poem by Felix Bongjoh

In a night nimbus thinning
Out into crow and oil,
But straddling charcoal
And soot, clouds hang on.

Do we light ourselves up,
Candles burning
From bushes of sorrows
We carry on heads

Grown into stones
Burst out of concrete walls,
Much cement of breath
Left to fill up cracks

In broken hearts?
We still stand on iroko girder,
Only flesh thinned out
Into reeds and sisal fiber

Breaking at the slightest
Stretch, melting into
Thawed ice, bony stems
Holding the center tight.

When the long strand
Of the last nerve pulls us
Together, fingers of broomsticks
Holding the broom firm,

Each bull-harnessed push
Strikes with the force
Of a rod spinning a rake,
As we dig and scoop out

Roots that stick like crabs
To pull out seeds
And seedlings of spidery weeds
Nailing us to quivering tombs.