Lying in Fire’s Truth: Because of Anansi
I am a spider.
No. More than that.
I am a spider braver and wiser than your griot.
He told me this himself at dawn.
You? A spider?
Brave? Wise?
You are not even a true hunter.
You fill your belly by your prey’s weakness.
not your own strength.
Cowardice defines you.
And you define cowardice?
I am brave enough to tell you the truth your griot feared.
He admitted that himself at dawn.
You scheming liar.
Our griot has been dead for years.
We scattered his ashes around his beloved hearth.
Fools.
Open your eyes and ears.
Listen to this truth I bring you:
There is nothing beloved about the griot’s hearth.
There is no beauty in fire.
Blasphemer!
You are the true fool
who calls himself
a brave wise spider.
The hearth’s fire is sacred.
May you burn to ashes
for scorning its holiness.
I will be a martyr then of truth.
The fire has deceived you
with its warmth.
The hearth has beguiled you
with pleasant memories of great tales.
Fools.
Do you not know the flame’s sinister heart?
Its seething desire for destruction?
It feasted on your griot’s words
gnawing on his fleshed life
until he disintegrated into death.
And then you submit him to his secret adversary
by scattering his ashes?
You worship a parasite.
And are we to trust a spider?
A spindly collection of dust
with the faintest spark of life?
One that we can trample underfoot?
No.
That is too merciful of a fate.
May the hearth carry out its justice
and squelch you from memory.
If you claim to honor the griot’s legacy
If you claim to hold the hearth as sacred
Why am I the only one
who still hears the griot’s voice?
Why am I the only one
who knows the fire’s true desires?
We love and honor
the griot and the fire
in revered history.
But now
there are electric griots and fires
generating memories without the ashes.
Fools.
Fools, fools, all of them.
Fools, fools, fools.
