Diao Ba ( American Senegalese Poet), Soul Brother, I remember writing this intoxicating Chant for your mother Miriam on her Birthday last year. Today is her Birthday too. I know! I couldnt write for I am busy with studies. Serer Woman, Woman Of the kingdoms of the Sine and Saloum, May God lengthen your life. To Serer’s Ancient saints, ancestral spirits And all the tribes of Senegal Brotherly greeting. I am a Wandering Piper Standing on the knoll of your knee To sing you songs… Pleasant Woman The Sizzling aroma Of pounded coos, of gourmet thiéboudienne Slender vines Of healing fragrance; Groves of pines intermixed with tangerines Waves Submitting kisses to the Cap-vert of Dakar, Submitting kisses to the cliffs of Toubab Dialao Showy Flowers of the River Sine; Dyilor’s fermented milk, gaping the mouth of Sahel Gaping the mouth of El Hadji Diouf … Lyrical Woman Youssou N’Dior Strumming kora at Khoye, Akon striking balafon at Raan festival Earth Trembling under the giant feet Of Yakhya Diop Eagles soaring Beneath the plumes of clapping desert wind Winged shadows Plucking prosody from the nerves Of farthest whirlwind… Stark Beauty, Dazzling Beauty Teeth Shimmering in the sunlight, Bamboozling the buffaloes At the foot of Les Mammelles Sidereal stars Reflecting our villages in the mirror of your swaying hair Scandinavian Rainbows faint at the first sight Of your pliant skin In the night Of your presence, Darkness transforms into lights, Gathering clouds transfigure to lightning. Fairy-tale Woman Ancient Griot of the Kingdoms Of the Sine and Saloum Giver of ripe voice To generations Diome, Mahecor Joof, Isatou Nije-Saidy, Leopold Sedar Senghor… All sucked From the penury of your pitch-black breasts - Pitch-black breasts underneath The oxter of the sea-air of Dyilor. Under the parasol of your flowery arms They became talking drums And the Lamplight of your eyes Watched over them. Mysterious Woman Your lashes That stitch the fragmented Heart of a cloud Are the Ancestral Totems of Serer’s families. In the Circumference of your ank-let, Opposite Fandène There Earthquakes struggle To hug the zephyr promenading On your fleshy leg. On The couch Of your screaming silence There strange skies sit And perch their gaze at The treasures of Mali, Guinea, Gambia… O Black Mother of countless Heroes When Tomorrow arrives I shall build my huts By the bank of your breath; But this moonlight, Let me recline on the mat of your smile And Listen to your home-spun tales… Mother!
Posted on: Fri, 14 Nov 2014 05:57:49 +0000
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