Black king


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~


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.