Vulture-Eyed Man Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(for the children of Fiango, Kumba, Ambazonia)

(i)

Under a billowing
sky in flames
of daisy and chiffon

light swelling
into a comet's
wallowing tail,

an asteroid
stand's a bobbing
flashlight
brightened
by a breeze's wick.

The sunny sky,
a gliding mirror,
falls
on a vulture-eyed
man to see

his face, wrinkles
in ridges
like a withered leaf

swinging
with a broken
hand
hooked
to a tree branch.

Through a breeze
of transparent
glass, the sparrow

peeks
at every wave
of a stormy hand

and bows
to air
with its million eyes.

(ii)

Horn-headed
dude, you shot
children
and killed
the buzzing flower

hovering
over their breezy
eyes clothed
in zephyrs

bouncing in with
the whirr
of candles
closing their eyes,

the whispering
garden
of palisaded earth

crowded
with moths from
candle lights'
burbling mouths.

(iii)

Thorn-eyed buddy,
you seized
a glowing sun

from a cerulean
sky and pulled
in a nimbus

to splash a deep
cave's night,

a volcano of coals
exploding with
the fire of children

burning
from the hearth
of man's inner bowl.

Pigeon
on a dove's path,
spin the lotus
of everlasting life

in its swamp's nest
to hatch,
as chicks flow
with faces to glow

under stars
from beads of streams
garlanding
cheeks to flow,

cascades
tumbling
in a one-way traffic
we bow to.

Let an eagle-eyed
mid-day sun
break through
an onyx cloak of night,

to point an arrow
of light
at the vulture man.