A Ship's Leaking Hole Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

A gale is tiptoeing a storm,
the wind having lost its breeze
to waves that bounced
back and galloped to the shore.

A storm is sneaking behind
a hurricane, strong gusts
racing towards a storm wave

spreading its silvery tentacles
to weave a sky of soaked
cream woolen threads in the hands
of a knitter stretching out

screens of tossed sprinkles
of water sprayed like columns
of a huge birds,
wandering albatross' wingspans,
cutting off
small birds closing in.

(ii)

Steel strings of water
sprung up from gods
in the sea's geysers pump
up sky-touching steel chains
and thin wires
of drizzles splashed by arrows.

A full moon having sunk
behind a squiggling horizon
of short and low waves,

a tornado shooting a spear
of water under a sky
of sprinkled and interwoven
stars sketched a silver
labyrinth of thin threads of water.

O Sailor, hold your sky high.
Let the winds not pull you
to the foam and spume
of a shore riding too close.

Those ripped sails stand
on the deck like low shredded clouds
dropping to earth.
But all clouds are perched
on the sky's tallest tower.

(iii)

After the storm a thunderclap
of cheering hands, the crew
scales up its thunderous applause

with louder pressed cymbals
of hand clapping steered by the ship
making its way through calm waters.

Gliding smoothly on elastic
low waves and ripples until the ship
grows heavy with an abrupt
jerky tilt and wobble, a Mate

screaming "A hole, a hole -
the ship is leaking. Sinking."

But of all arrows that could have
pierced the ship's bottom
or hull to cause the leakage, one points
to the Captain's Mate,

who glued and stitched his hands,
as other members of the crew clapped
at the sailor for ploughing
through cutting and punching waves.