A Pact with the Living

Those who have died have never left
The dead are not under the earth
They are in the rustling trees
They are in the groaning woods
They are in the crying grass
They are in the moaning rocks
The dead are not under the earth
Those who have died have never left
The dead have a pact with the living
They are in the woman’s breast
They are in the wailing child
They are with us in the home
They are with us in the crowd
The dead have a pact with the living

by Birago Diop
as adapted by Sweet Honey in the Rock

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Categories: Death, Poetry Sundays | 3 Comments

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3 thoughts on “A Pact with the Living

  1. I had a lovely chance to sing this song early today and I am far better for having done so. Coincidence?

    Later, I was offered coffee. I chose tea and, without thought, put a small bit of milk in it, as my mother did, as my Aunt Jane did. Has it only been two months? And still I cried into my tea, just a little bit. And I know I’ll be having milk with my tea now.

    Sing the song.

  2. There Are No Coincidences.

  3. Ah, Sweet Honey, glad they’re still going strong.

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