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Chasing the Griot

Written by Nakia Paskett


What happened to our men folk?

They don’t come round here no mo 

I look for them to protect and stand up for us women here

But I don’t see them no mo

I look for them to teach the seeds and tell the stories of our people

But they don’t come round here no mo


Them children go chasing that old man

Locs wrapped around his head like a turban, they tell the age of his wisdom

He walks slowing without a cane, 

Child, he don’t need no cane, he walks on the shoulders

Of the ancestors, they keep him steady


The Old man, stares hauntingly 

And calls the children to sit by his feet

His voice is deep and low, still decorated by his native tongue, 

The old man tell tales from the country and feed the children knowledge, fruit, but no one’s eating

Tears sting his piercing eyes, and drip down his blue black skin

He sadden 

He see the future and its dark, the seeds don’t have the knowledge, wisdom or understanding

The Old man look into the empty eyes of the seeds

With his native tongue and energy from the ancestors

He screams, 


Come sit now and listen to the griot.

-Nakia Paskett, 2018

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