Faces Of Freedom Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Through two distant
iron pike mountain heads
of a fading crimson glow
and drifting light,

the sun rolls and bounces
out from a nest-freed
daisy bobbing chamber.

It bows to an unfolded
curtain, as it dives
into a fog
it could not poke through

with swimming screens
of umber at dawn.

It now rises to thrust a sky
dropping, dropping
with a taupe pearl air

to rise again sharply
like missiles in flight.

The sun jumps in from
the east rolling over
through the tall trees
and rising walls of shadows

ricocheted from
skipping skyscrapers flying
to air's drifting ceiling.

The sun bounces in,
a cream soccer ball shot
through goal poles
of stiff smoky shades.

Still powdering an early
morning draped in
in stretching cotton sheets
folding over into beige
nylon splashes of dim light.

Then the sunrays melt
into wings of a tumbled
graphite cloud flapping
black hawk and eagle wings
to hover for a while.

Swinging back and forth
with white butterflies
of flickering light dancing,

as if floated and hurled out
from fireflies shoving
at an entrance
to hide in the dark.

(ii)

But shifting panels
of sienna air break open,
and the sun
with sturdier arms shoots

through to roll
and cartwheel on my
room's wall fighting
to ward off various beasts
of croaking light.

Skipping on the wall, flying
from angle to angle,

egret wings of light sailing
through flip charts
of light falling on earth's page
in a book of folks

shooting out bullets of tropes,
as stony hands cannot
push through the very sun

mounting its cotton nest,
made of daisy reeds of light.

A cerulean- and sapphire-
draped dragon fly
flipping wings full of light
veers its way out

of the sun growing night
through eyes of a yelling mob.