Bandiagara Cliffs

Awakened by waves of Harmattan wind
Sweeping new dust through boulders, revealing
Children, full of grace, from Banani who
Cry though smiling with mimicry, while they
Shoulder impassable poverty and
Trade francs for shrieks of Ave Maria.

Ah, with chagrin, palimpsest of pilgrims,
Rewrite, please, this kind guide’s dead sentiments,
Or else foredoomed be the fruit of all wombs.

Birth with these Dōgon, in deep sediment,
An earthed symphony without misery:
Vivid, gemmed, weightless as flying Tellem.

So, children find voice in redemption songs
Ushering a rush of revolution
Inscribing streams, irrigating dry dreams,
Erasing blood and blame for who has sinned,
Ambushing old dust from caves with fresh green
Awakened by waves of Harmattan wind.