Wisdom Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Weighing thoughts
on a spring scale,
cutting off a machine
to spit out fruits

from a tree of birdy
whizzes and fizzes
in the brain,
a sun scanning stars.

Don't let the hot
balloon of cheeks
explode
from toothy stars

of mouth's orifice
not yet spraying
and shooting moon light

at molar-grinding
corners chewing off
flowers to leave
only leafy specks

from the calyx
of an amaranth.

(ii)

Let the mouth
be the last actor. Don't
let it fart out
greasy smells,

unincubated schema
still nestled
by the hen in you

growling out
the egg-laying song
over the whirr
of a hot cup of tea.

Jam the edges
Of the two
door panels
of your mouth
with a click of wind,

when times
are dry and chilly
and deaf
and blind, an eclipse
sitting on rock,

piercing stars
of a quiet night
crowning you
with dim pieces
of King Solomon.

(iii)

When you storm out
of your snail shell,
listen to the robin's
voice, as a sparrow
whispers into
your chapped ears.

Mumbling
and muttering feathers
in the wind
stir the gale to drive

full nests of chicks
to weave
gossamer strands
of times and grow
into clucking chickens.

When you whizz out
of an ant's hole,

let your eyes catch
the narrow
tunnel of your route
to the living room

for a dialogue
with labyrinths
of the world hanging
like spiders

with no cob webs
to fit their pieces
into a spine,
letting your mouth
pour out
diarrheic rattling machine.