Melted Flower Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(for a dead young man dragged out by BIR soldiers and his numb body shot)

(i)

A flame lighting up
beaming petals on every lip.

Erasing wrinkles
and filling up dents
on every neighbor's cheeks.

He has crept
and dived out
too soon from life's hangar
stone-walled by his breath.

Dragged by roaring beasts
of taupe khaki men,
he's dragged out,
a stony log of a man.

A glowing sun
on a candle's lips
blown off
by the windy hands
of mantis soldiers.

Shooting at his heavy stone,
as he's flown off
in a deity's hands
to a cleaned-out world of light.

O jewel of the village worn,
a twinkling crystal star,
on everyone's garland.

(ii)

Fallen, the young man
in his wired fort
built on two legs

to carry him, a mountain
of clothes on his head,
through forests of folks haggling
with him all day.

As he steers himself
every bird-winged day

in beaming flowers of smiles
to carve out a trumpet -

to hoot and blare him
through a steep hill of life.

(iii)

To plough through clouds
and thaw heavy fog
into the thick wings of a falcon.

The big bird's breath
has flown him
galloping
through life's narrow tunnel

to shower him with light
paving a cobblestone path
to the thick-rooted pillar

his mother and family
can grip with beetle-nailed
and crab-glued hands.

The buzzing bee flash
of lightning slithering through
shaky quivering stalks
of life is melted into air
by a muzzle in a breezy hand.

The man is dead.
Numb rock
no gun can kill.

Air around him
weaves and molds him
into a mountain
carrying a boulder
to weigh down on us.