Felix Bongjoh

Silver River Of Night

(i)

I'm pierced by pain
injected by pops
and crackles, a far-flung field
full of muzzle tongues
spilling the blood

of people in shackles,
blindfolded and flogged
until their wide
albatross wings grow
into penduline tits' tails.

I'm burnt by hot flashes
shredding me over
a glowing hearth into ruby
and crimson patches,

before grinding me
into ash and night's cream
dust, a moon yawning
out cotton and bright silver.

(ii)

When night sneezes
and coughs out
flowing beaming moon
rivers tossing off
etched shadows
onto my cracking balcony.

I spin within me
like late sun in a nose dive
at s horizon's edge
tiptoed by the melt
of burnt stars dripping into
my chest hot-red
with a blacksmith's coals

and sparks brighter
than a firmament's
bouncing, jumping, cartwheeling
and crawling lime insects.

(iii)

Bloating me into a ballooned
bag of pain I can
no longer carry
on my splitting shoulders,

the night too heavy
for my head exploding into
a deluge, a river
of screaming children

and wailing, caterwauling
mothers showering
me with quiet whispers
from far-flung lips.

Until drowned in the deluge
by scratching fingers
and babies' needles of screams,
I bounce out of my door

a caved hollow of moonlit
night bleaching itself
into the glassy silver

of sun-lit night, when all sun
in me is crushed into stars
on a tulip tree swinging
in a gale pouring the indigo
flowers of stars to explode

into the stretchy river
sprinkling thick drips of water
to flow down my cheeks.

Topic(s) of this poem: moon, night, pain

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, September 16, 2020

Form: Free Verse


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