The Silent Squirrel Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

I've been rolling
my eyes everyday
at this silent
squirrel, as it scampers

into a tree
and swallows
the quivering

slithering world
with its pink quartz eyes,

midget and giant life
in storm waves
and roaring fires.

Through my hawk-eyed
window
I've peeked at
the air-swinging midget
fold itself

into a knot, as it dives
into the head
of a starry-eyed snake

burning with a fire
to strike
the squirrel
in one reef-knotted

tightened loop
in the darkening
toothed cloud

of flying winged dives
and interweaving

arrows shot
by both squirrel
and snake
at each other.

(ii)

After a light
year-stretched bout,
the snake slips
off into high air,

poking with an arrowed
tongue,
at the squirrel
hanging in mid-air.

But the curled fur
pokes more heavily
with toothed jabs

at the reptile
losing breath and steam,

as it bleeds,
creeping off through a pool
of its own blood

to its cleaved cliff's edge,
a flamy volcano
sinking deep - never to spit out
whimpering hissing ash.

(iii)

Life spins on a dry
leaf swirled to stand
in mid-air without legs.

It doesn't burst out
from a storm
to ignite a flame

that engulfs
and chews a midget of a dude.

It leans on no
slithering reptile
folding up with
an elastic body

the midget jumping high
to evade every poke.

It is doesn't
shrink at a ropy body
hurled out
to chain and choke

a short knotty
guy full of storm.

It is not the typhoon
of a snake
that corners from
every angle,

but fails to land
with a hammering crush.

Life is a tailed curling wind
that lands
with a sword's slash.