fon tuma

Rookie (03/03/1985 / Bamenda, Cameroon)

Siesmic Salvation. - Poem by fon tuma

A toothless, twisted old woman walked, hopping on one foot
muttering darkly, the lines of some scripture spiritual
repeating the psalmist poet over and over,
As a white iguana with a man's square-jawed face stood
blocking her path, the giant unworldly reptile
gently swishing its scaly tail lazily back and forth,
flicking its twin-tongue.

Wormwood was eating up the sea and Cancer fed on fishes,
Tra-la-la some pretty thing sang out to the sunset.

Nigerian neighbours pounding yam after dusk brings on
the night. Uninformed of the iron-clad superstition
to beware hard work at night lest the bright moon come
to claim and take you away, imprison you in that silver orb's
maiden-ness like the head-tied woman who can still be
seen in there splitting firewood forever.

Sanskrit volumes were found in the belly of Jonah's whale,
Noah's Ark rests tilted, atop the Pontiff's house while
Anjuna stands before blooded men, preaching with illustrations
from the Gita.

To increase one's dignitas and slaughter lawyers in the Forum-
square.
Willow was the wind in the woods telling trees
of levitating monkeys in the lotus pose.
Wicked whiskey was poured into the roaring fire of logs
sacrifice to the bargaining Lord, sly and hooded at the
Crossroads.

Safari savanna brown with stubborn grass,
stretching far shimmering mirages in the high noon
where a doomed giraffe kicks fearfully wild, mad
at the gnawing Hyenas, mocking with tight laughs
while bringing slow death to the towering gentile Camel,
the spotted giant of the brown wilderness.

He journeyed for years because he heard there was
a beautiful woman in this village. He came for her and left
embittered, and was heard to scream in royal wrath as he left;
'I was brought news of a befitting beauty in this township
I endured the perils of three hard years in travel through the Back lands
to come ask her hand. Alas I unveiled her just to greet a bag of skeletons! '
exiting in a flurry of flamboyant dress-robes.

An angel wrestled with a man through the broken night
struck his hip and finally surrendered blessing to the mortal
racing back to Yahweh's hold before Aurora opened her heavy gates,
ushering Dawn from her halls. A piteous lot was Aurora's the sea-queen
who was enslaved by the enchanting strength of man's mighty phallus
who pled for ravage eternal. Aha! But The Sisters Fate too have to laugh.

Cassandra, Cassandra bathe that blade purple.

Young gentlemen stood around sharing their bed-time stories:
'There was this girl from the lovely women of Coorg, I'll call her
Lucky Lakshmir. She swished that waist alive and all manner
of tingles stood attentive. We circled the other and danced the dance
We conjured Disappearing Acts together, within the hold of
invisibility we played at 'This is me.'' to guffaws all around.

The out-of-reach town rested at peace, evening fires burning low,
when weapon code - Dr Manhattan - was inevitably unleashed.

Louis says it simplest 'You are responsible, when something happens around you,
you have to have a say' with Fela playing jazzily in the background:
'all ting na shakara*', he is crying. I passive-listen to this Astute American's words, while
making imagination, of what dark madness visited the nights at Uni Ibadan when Fela's
voice had shred through the night singing that same song,
and Shakara happened all around!


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Poem Submitted: Friday, December 11, 2009



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