Friends And Foes Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

A hurricane
On our hilly paths hits
Our faces hard,

But we still trudge
On through a path
Along a wild river,

Crocodiles
Raising their heads
To bet with us,

Wagging their tails,
As we draw
Close to them.

But when we see
A crocodile
Rush up from
Behind to grab a lion
With a deadly choke,

We cling to it
For a bond
Without killing
Its venom

To which we may be
The next prey, struggling
In the deep throat
Of an unexpected beast.

(ii)

Often we stay on
A hurricane's track,
For it picks
No prey, but howls,

Wild limbs stretched out
To knock down

Goliaths, often sparing
Davids crawling
Uphill to bunkers behind
Swelling trees
And yawning rocks.

(iii)

A wild wind
In a snarling and howling
Swoop doesn't
Only knock at doors
To mangle and chew.

It may also fold
Up into bulldozers in
Wild sea waves,

To drift wounded ships
Ashore
Where canaries sing,

Ripping off
From a lion's mouth
The dove

That warns
A neighborhood
Of a viper soon after
Tracked down
In its narrow path
And choked,

As another wild wind
Behind the hills
Blows mellow flutes
To blend with
Canaries' choruses:

Cut corners in
Conium's nightly zone;
Bump into a friend's
Sunlit home.