Sometimes I Will Not Try

Sometimes I will not try To find the joy of feeling what I think I suffer but not cry From empty pen, or dry ink I cannot tell what sudden swell Engorges me with juices sweet Or what shattering of hell Make me run or dance upon the street I only that there is a moment The river rises from underground And fill my world with green content And words to imitate its sound. I am immortal then Immortality is a moment too, my friend Of consciousness when The griot’s heart murmurs to itself again