Fon Tuma
Fon Tuma is a twenty-four year old poet and author, born in English-speaking Cameroon. His debut literary work 'Talk of the Night' is currently undergoing publication review. It is a collection of smouldering, recondite prose marked by a propensity toward nocturnal and humanistic themes. He is currently working on a historical fiction set in Pre-Colonial Cameroon which bellows the advent of the Germans and the tribal resistances that followed.
Raised Roman Catholic, he is an ardent Agnostic and in his own words, harbors 'A wanderer's foot'. Fon Tuma has lived in Bangalore, India for the last 4 years.Visit HIS BLOG.
YOU MIGHTY YOU
You,
beautiful womb of man
singular seed of speed
first in a million cells
- that raced -
first come, first born,
first breath.
No 1 in contention with
your peers that passed.
You,
powerful you
constructed unique from
muscle to hair tissue; from
head to tail made a power-
station, electrical and even
nuclear - as in exploded in
anger, went nuclear. Electrons
and emotions, signals sent
and retracted.
You,
magestic you. Composed
Alpha
Amazonian
Bestial
Earth-loved
Sharp-teethed
Cannibal.
You,
above the weeds of death
the slave-ship stops her song
You,
anchored to the armada of love
splayed before the chopping board
and nothing was
You,
the blade came roaring down
Immaculate You was flower
for from the pool beneath,
a single white Rose stood trembling.
In the spirit of Black Language: Praise for Toni Morrison
Then we could go back to Solomon’s Songs
where the pen held no ink; the point was ball-less;
and there was no ignite to the gas. There where
“I love you is back”.
Shun me not Oh daughters of Jerusalem
Look not upon me, because I am black
For the sun hath looked upon me.
My mother’s children were angry with me,
they made me keeper of the vineyards.
We were with T. Morrisson to avenge
-the beautiful Macon Deads.
And “I love you is back”.
Where the silent scream goes unvarnished
with hate, the Duala river-folk arrive in Ngondo dress;
black loincloths trailing the wet sands.
Then we could go back to Solomon’s Songs
And the glass held no milk. Dusk -
the house was light-less; the caraboat no paint.
And “I told you so is back”, “No I bi tell you?”
To have known then what Shalimar had assimilated.
That “if you surrendered to the air, you could
Ride it.
(c) Fon Tuma
You,
beautiful womb of man
singular seed of speed
first in a million cells
- that raced -
first come, first born,
first breath.
No 1 in contention with
your peers that passed.
You,
powerful you
constructed unique from
muscle to hair tissue; from
head to tail made a power-
station, electrical and even
nuclear - as in exploded in
anger, went nuclear. Electrons
and emotions, signals sent
and retracted.
You,
magestic you. Composed
Alpha
Amazonian
Bestial
Earth-loved
Sharp-teethed
Cannibal.
You,
above the weeds of death
the slave-ship stops her song
You,
anchored to the armada of love
splayed before the chopping board
and nothing was
You,
the blade came roaring down
Immaculate You was flower
for from the pool beneath,
a single white Rose stood trembling.
In the spirit of Black Language: Praise for Toni Morrison
Then we could go back to Solomon’s Songs
where the pen held no ink; the point was ball-less;
and there was no ignite to the gas. There where
“I love you is back”.
Shun me not Oh daughters of Jerusalem
Look not upon me, because I am black
For the sun hath looked upon me.
My mother’s children were angry with me,
they made me keeper of the vineyards.
We were with T. Morrisson to avenge
-the beautiful Macon Deads.
And “I love you is back”.
Where the silent scream goes unvarnished
with hate, the Duala river-folk arrive in Ngondo dress;
black loincloths trailing the wet sands.
Then we could go back to Solomon’s Songs
And the glass held no milk. Dusk -
the house was light-less; the caraboat no paint.
And “I told you so is back”, “No I bi tell you?”
To have known then what Shalimar had assimilated.
That “if you surrendered to the air, you could
Ride it.
(c) Fon Tuma