Dripping from his unkempt brow
We are told to sit
Mark days by how long we don't give in
To temptation
But rather foster discussions
Of rather long prose
I gather stories
From griots of Ibo
He tells me about a man
Dead and buried in the Mother Earth
Comes back Lazurus style
Has another family
But if old sees new
He will disappear into thinness of air
I don't believe
But the story passes the time
Gives me thoughts of memories past
We were all here before
I am waiting to not sit
But to live
If he can have two
Why can't I have one?
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