Breeze And Storm Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Shoot the sun
in its rayed eyes.
Fire the star
off to its burning brows

when cleansing
ourselves
for a sharp orison
to reach a typhoon's
horizon.

Only a sneeze
ignites a storm.
Like air
spinning a word
from lip to lip,

a firestorm is brewed
from an ant's
breath smacking
of a snake's venom.

When a giggle
carries a smoke
from glowing coals
in the furnace
of a stretched ogle,

a flamy gaze
spins the full fire
of a spark
between two pebbles

growing
onto the altar
of our orison,

our spines breaking,
as the firmament
hurls back
and buries a bow
from a viper's spine.

When we bow
to shoot
our inner selves
onto the firmament,

let a deep volcano
rise from a well
in our inner chamber

to settle
in the kettle
of our daily tea

filled with
a sea of rippled strokes
and no waves.


(iii)

When the horizon
holds nothing
but breeze,
fear, the only animal
that ignites a storm,

is hurled onto
the jagged banks
of a sea
for waves to devour,

as we turn flame
from a matchstick's
mouth to glow

brighter than
the zephyr-fueled lantern
of a bow,
the only orison

exploding
like a morning
sun after a dark
storm of night.