River Flow Back Upstream Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

River yowling and howling
through a fallen tree
in the shooting gale blubbering
with choked leaves,
and dry twigs. And bobbing branches,

sniveling through interwoven roots,
a trunk broken and sitting
on sand and pebbles and aged stones,
cut short your voyage to no-harbor.

Cut short your trip to swamps.
Let your strides pull you
to a watershed swelling above a rock,
those bumps on your cheekbones.

Split yourself, as you flow back
Upstream, where bees buzz in scratched
Hives standing firm
On climbing poles climbing.

(ii)

River, flow upstream. Flow up
to a protruded embankment's tower.
To a hill's face stretching out
its rock along cliffs and slates
older than your pain.

To the laddered rock, go back
with the breeze. Go back with a buzz
pulling a zephyr.
With a fly's hum taking over your pain
as it wriggles in a kingfisher's mouth.

And a lightning-slashed cloud
collapses with smoke
from the burning barbet, clothes
the smoldering fire roasting it,
even as it flies in its flaming attire.

River fly back up stream with the wind.
With the gale. Fly to the watershed.
O river, fly upstream to the torn face
of a hill as old as regolith.

River, fly upstream to the watershed
behind a rising stone of fortitude,
the harbor behind your philtrum,
a chimney on a tower breathing out your pain.