Little Divots of Farewell

Azka d azqa in Kabyle—

Tomorrow is the grave—

What a beautifully built phrase

To have learned from Zeniter.

As proverbial wisdom,

It’s earthy, of course, common,

But how many languages

Come with almost homonyms

For tomorrow and the grave?

Only rarely does a phrase

Achieve this kind of kernel,

Rhymed or punned, in such small words,

Terse as fists, that can sum up

In one quick expectoration

An equivalence this known.

English has its womb and tomb,

Which echo with hollow semes,

But too intimate, too grand.

Death and tomorrow should rhyme,

Should echo in every tongue.

We are grateful for Kabyle.