Sun In A Night Poem by Felix Bongjoh

Sun In A Night
(i)

Cloudy and sooty,
although the sun shines,
flames and waves
of birds pecking at pores.

Sun spins night too
hanging
on a spar, my deck
steering a ship of me,

cutting through the hill
of a wave driven
by air-wheeled roseate pelicans.

Along shores of my inner
dim islands beaming
with white flowers
lighting up wriggling edges of me.

(ii)

The sun shines with beams
and stitched ripples
of a blue sea rolling
tongues of whispering waves

sinking into the mouths
of whirlpools that only spit out
foamy spirals onto
rolling rippled sheets of water.

Why are threads of water
weaving whistling dry leaves,

these scales falling off
my cheeks swollen
with bouncing jumping mounds,

breaking into wrinkles of water
under a wing-flapping
flying sun carrying no bird.

Carrying only a heavy nimbus
to swallow spinning
helices of a fluffy sun
planted by a grin without wings.

(iii)

The sun also dances into
my room with silver
flowers of tree-filtered light.

But night has settled
in my inner bowl. Night has
cast a dark beam
on acoat of night

A crater hollowed out
under me
pulls me down; tosses me

into the cave of a hippo's yawn
brewing a storm
flying over a river of baby strokes
and brushes in a boat.

(iv)

Pushes me into a pipe
that won't drain me out
of red wet stains,

my people dying, their skies
dried up of stars
that sprouted and spilled
through fields of air,

when baby whimpers in a palisaded
green field of snivels
and snivels on bouncing backs,

mothers weighing gems
in gardens harvesting
giggles of finger-sipping pain

hung across their shoulders,
the only sun showering
the face with a phone call
in a wind's Morse code.

(v)

After the Muyuka blood bath
beginning with a young lady
dragged on potholed tarmac

that devours her and breathes out
a gale into her moon eyes,
night digs a deep hole into sun.

The sun bleeds with an overflowing
night that spills only more sun
into my crater of a brittle man.

On the hard floor of a rocky night
still growing knotted flowers of stars,
a lady and a toddler bloom.

In thatcity of night crawling
into the volcano of night exploding
into bleaching sun, I see
more sun at a cliff's edge of night

sprouting with dawn's sun
carrying no crimson traces of blood.