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Who
shall visit
my burial place
and
d a n c e ~
with grace
or condemnation
on my tombstone . .
fixed in dirt and ash
that tells the story
of The Griot
whose story this is . ?
the very notion
that this is all so wrong
and irreverent
and macabre
should
make one wanna dance
and dance
and dance
D a n c e ~
not of an ending
but of a beginning
set in the demise
of that which was
but still is
I c e l e b r a t e l i f e
I murdered death
to live again
and so I live
beyond the end
D a n c e ~
in respect and celebration of a life lived
w h a t e v e r t h e c o n t r i b u t i o n the world
will never be the same
no matter how small
a life was lived
the testament is
one was here . . !
a n d
that meant something
even at the moment lived
j u s t ~
that presence was enough
to earn the tribute
the respect of a dance
w h e n I d i e ~
I wish for someone
anyone
to dance
upon my grave
preferably a young lass
scantily clad
with nice tits
full hips
sweet lips
and a fat ass
who shall call
or curse my name
r e c o g n i s i n g t h a t
I was villain and hero
mischief-maker and rogue
good and evil
I was friend and foe
demon and saint
I was power and pain
I was flood of all floods
and yet I was rain
hunger and thirst
the last and the first
famine and plenty
the cure and the curse
history and mystery
myth, magic and lore
I was evil of all evils
and still I was more
i f n o t a l l t h i s b e t r u e
Still talk of me
in dead of night
on my tombstone
dark and cold
and chant for wisdom
listen to my story told
no one shall ever know
of what is spoken
I’ll tell of things
I wished I’d done
or had not done
loves I’d lost
and loves I’d won
forgotten and remembered
lives
I’d lived or wished to live
but never did
the loves
the lust
the cravings
t h e m u s t
o f e v e r y m o m e n t
the pictures
the paintings
the songs
the singing
the truth
the lies
yet
I only lied
ten thousand times
I W a s o f W o m a n B o r n
so when I die
d a n c e . .
as Shiva danced
a Tandava
D a n c e U p o n My G r a v e
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