Stump In A River Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

In the haze and maze
of unfiltered times,

when feet and fists of strong puffs
kicked and punched

in roaring tussles and sprawling
jerky spinning knees and legs,


a typhoon lifted you
with your heavy bumpy boots
pulled down by deep roots

sunk through a rock-armed
thick paste of slab

churned by a howling deity
to stick to loam with
coconut crab hands.

(iii)

In a hilly chunk of earth
you lie stretched out,
a slat back armchair,
in which you've sat

on a rocky earth mound
gripping clinging earth

for a sprinting century
bowing to no cleaving axe.

Yielding to no machete's biting
and mauling blade
that won't chop off your waist,

as you wriggle and slither
through yourself
in sharp piercing pains,

and still stand your ground
in this muscle-handed river.

(iv)

Sweeping its way through ridges
and hills of water swelling high into air

shooting arrows
of splashes, as lengthened fingers
of water poke water to stroke

low ceilings of sky
after downpours worn by the land

like leaking umbrella canopies
of silver shaken off
and sprinkled in streaks of water
shot to land
at your shredded feet.

After cutting and mangling hands
have failed to knock you down,
you still stand strong, flipping out

green parakeets of leaves
to parrot off
to the crooning and rumbling river

how strong you stand
amid swaying lances of lightning,

when it thunders like a blast
that sinks and plants you
deeper in the fort of a river's roaring love.