The Fangs Of Indifference Poem by Felix Bongjoh

The fangs of indifference
From an overcrowded street of passion,
Flanked by bowing flowering trees,
We soon arrived at the level shore,
Where we both threw away briskly
The fire haunting us incessantly
Into a trash can of oblivion. To let only the sun
Throw a ray to dig through a closed chasm,
Where dry petals flew over retreated fossils
Shouting in their prolonged silence:
O well attired lurid butterflies of death!

Everything past rippled away
Into a new sea in which we swam
Gracefully. Forgetting the swarm
Of bees that came storming us
From nowhere. Maybe from
The surrounding mountains, the heights
Of adventure - reckless as loose
Lightning in an overcrowded square.

Then we retreated from the crowds
To let in flowers, talk to the hollows
Of our lonely spirits, our deserted selves
Etched on the round stone of indifference
We'd become, nearing a point of being
Bulldozed away by the sharp spade
Of boredom, bordered on a certain desolation.

Let's make no further step to the bank
Of a wild river traversing our spirits,
As we walk across this garden, this row
Of flowers drifting away fiendish storms,
Hurling stones and small particles of nature
Into the naked torso of a new hope.
Into the smoothness of hard times
Borne by soft memories. Borne by the cushion
Of a certain parsimony, passion's wings
Plucked off - where a bee stings,
Leaving honey - and not blood -
To sprout out from the tough skin of indifference:

O you, this weary victim laid bare
And trampled upon simply because your
Mouth has become the stone
That gave birth to you, wrap yourself up
Into that cliff that rolls you down into a crocodile's mouth.