Black king


writing

This poem was written as a gift for a little girl while the poet was thrown into a death-camp by the repressive regime. There is a bit of January-ism in it, one imagines. The past looms all over in the thick of beckoning hope.

I will tell you, my child
a true story:
It happened a long time ago,
When on earth there was a black king.

He lived on the shores of a spring
and his house was made of clay
he was the friend of the people
who were his brothers.

In each tree there was a sun,
there were shepherds and cows
the wind was full of music
the wind was full of music
in the times of the black king
My child, I’m so sad,
the disappeared.

I have not seen him in a long time,
not since the day I grew up
.Now you are leaving to look for him,
tell him that I remember him,
that I carry him in my soul,
tell him that I’m crying.

 

~Sergio Vesely~

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