Sun's Salvation Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

I come out
of sprayed ruby splashes,
this squad of mud,

covered with sullage
from a sink.

A pipe has poured out
popping blood
from blush and candy wounds
under dappling hands,

O falling breezes
whistling through leaves
on a bending tree

of red apples
mulched
by man's flagellation
of the very earth
molding him into a crocodile,

a mouth spitting out
barn red mud
to welter in man's face.

(ii)

Is this flushed tap
the spattering geyser
spurting out

of man's round chuckle
at late evening
deepens no owl's hoot

but a trumpet
from a deep hibiscus flower,

when only a sky mumbles,
bubbling
with shredded stars,

bleeds out mud splashes
into dark watery clouds.

(iii)

Dredge the mire.
Filter out
pebbles from smooth silt
molding balls
of wrapped bones.

Squeeze out O squeeze out
the berry and merlot hue
flying off with tails
of sparks from a fire of love.

Fuscia and magenta
Stains still drip
from these dove feathers
weaving soiled snow

of cotton patches
into silver strings of drizzles
crowning a ballooned
head with night clouds.

(iv)

Filter out red grains
of sand from bundles
of fallen
rosewood clouds

on a carpet spread out
to cleanse stained soles,
when sun's napkins

weigh heavy - too soaked
to be squeezed out
into a feather's vanes.

Open up your arms
for me, as I kowtow
like this twisted vine hanging
down from an apple tree.

Let the tree's wooden
beams cross each other,
as I bow
to a swelling shadow
in a moon's splashed wings.