Steadfast Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

The storms have
roared past sea shore
banks, uprooted
grasses and shrubby
and tall trees.

They've lurked beneath
flames and fires
of garden flowers.

And razed houses
and villages
with hurled sparks
and slashing flames

brewed
by the glowering
hands
of smoke-eyed men.

Swallowing other men
with muzzles, as
they overrun their land,

a regolith yawning
out the bones
and flesh of forefathers
of a hushed people.

And singing in the wind
whispering through
withered and juniper leaves

bearing coated
caterpillars bursting
into new lives

of butterflies burning
emerald screens
of burgeoning
and flourishing flowers
with their hue.

(ii)

How the people
have sipped smoke
and gobbled down
flames of death.

How they have kissed
shadows of brothers
and sisters still
melting off on the road
to the other world,

as sniveling children
shoo off
black-coated birds
to hover with wingless

stiff shredded
garnet and maroon
clouds in growling cages.

The gardener along
River Manyu still mulches
his green ridges
hoisting flowers brushing
a condor's path,

an aloe cementing a healing
outshining the sun,

as breezes only
strengthen folks into
baobab trees sitting
on their sprayed firm roots.