“THE QUIET RIVER”

Beyond the orchard which borders the bank, 

the vaporous chariot of the queen of shadows rises and whitens the horizon. 

Our boat slips on the quiet river 

While my friend sleeps, her hand in the water. 

A butterfly slipped on her shoulder, beat her wings and then flew

For a longtime, I watched him. 

It was heading towards the Cleveland mountain.

Was it a butterfly, or the dream that my friend had just made?


ADAMA KONATE 

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