Screens And Flashlights Of Sun Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

My slat-screened window
shields my bed room
from thick fog, but not light,

as screens of suns
and arrow-headed flashlights
pierce my window pane.

And the sun itself shoots
sharp flashes of light
from its frequent wide-opened
yawns and coughs.

My space underdressed
with thick curtains
is prey to bouncing balls

of light from a sleepy sun
flapping wings only
when light is lace and linen.

Casting mast and main sail
only when sun's ship
is cruising on a blue sea of sky.

(ii)

This early afternoon
the sun cruises on a sharp trajectory,
as showers of rays
fall on my sleeping pillow.

My throw pillows and headboard
pillow are wet with light
from a water sun grown more
plasmatic and crystal-edged.

Even my tubular pillow
Is not spared from the punching fists
of tumbling sunlight,

but feet don't sleep. Only eyes
stand guard against
the slightest fibers of sun rays

that may pull me out
of my warm furnace of sleep,
when a blacksmith's bellows
are at work fueling
the swift wings of a creeping snore.

(iii)

But from a tottering sleep
barely taking off with albatross wings
pushed by a wind drift
deep into a sky of drumming snores,

I free-fall to the light
wings of a sparrow landing
on a tree top

in a desert with little mulch
and scanty stroking grass
for another flight of sleep.

I wake up amid screens
of sun rays covering my window slats
and flashes of sun rays
fired by a sun's itchy gun.