Diptych by Birago Diop

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The Sun hung by a thread

In the depths of the Calabash dyed indigo

Boils the great Pot of Day.

Fearful of the approach of the Daughters of fire

The Shadow squats at the feet of the faithful.

The savannah is bright and harsh

All is sharp, forms and colours.

But in the anguished Silences made by Rumours

Of tiny sounds, neither hollow nor shrill,

Rises a ponderous Mystery,

A Mystery muffled and formless

Which surrounds and terrifies us.

The dark Loincloth pierced with nails of fire

Spread out on the Earth covers the bed of Night.

Fearful at the approach of the Daughters of shadow

The dog howls, the horse neighs

The Man crouches deep in his house.

The savannah is dark,

All is black, forms and colours

And in the anguished Silences made by Rumours

Of tiny sounds infinite or hollow or sharp

The tangled Paths of the Mystery

Slowly reveal themselves

For those who set out

And for those who return.