Spectrum Of Zephyrs Poem by Felix Bongjoh

Spectrum of zephyrs
(song for cold-afflicted)

A wheezing sneeze,
A breeze's hard toss,
Lands an ice-cold hand
That glues the afflicted
To monstrous beds.

Night falls pre-emptively,
An eclipse blooming:
May the fan of a zephyr
Sweep the faces of the afflicted
Before a gale strikes.

The zephyr's hands always
Light and cotton-soft,
May a gale's hard fingers
Spin, flicker and flip over.

May the gale's hands stay
On the mountains,
From where they descend,
A deep-throated bass,
Fondling and lulling the afflicted
In their sick addicting beds.

When the gale wields
A bulldozing force,
May they howl and growl
And stay in the yard,
Leaving the afflicted hugged
By the furnace of silence.

May they sing a song
Loud and strident enough
To awaken the afflicted,
As they recover from
A cold's cuffs and teethed grip.

And when it's all over,
May it be known soberly -
In a spectrum of zephyrs -
A breeze punches the afflicted,
And they sneeze out a gale,
A hurricane, then a tornado.

Towed to bed, rooted boulders,
Rising with wings, crickets,
They recover, bee hummingbirds,
As a new breeze brushes them.

When a hurricane opens
It's claws and paws to grip
The afflicted, they're better off
Getting fondled by bird feathers
As they fan themselves

In agold-covered dawn
With birdsong and breeze
Never coming to a freeze,
Suns still hiding, uncovered.

Suns wake up, raging stoves
Swung back.and forth,
High-handed waves, throwing
A tsunami's heavy jabs and blows.