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
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