The Little black boy.....
Suley's : " I was over at a friend's great-grandmother's house. She's 95 years old (born in 1910!) and she just casually refers to all blacks as "nigras." We laugh at her, but she doesn't get it" reminded me of a poem I read when still in high school.... One of the most beautiful poems I've ver read. Here goes:
My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
And I am black, but O! my soul is white;But I am black, as if bereav'd of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And pointing to the east, began to say:
"Look on the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives his light, and gives his heat away;
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish; we shall hear his voice,
Saying: 'Come out from the grove, my love and care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.' "
Thus did my mother say, and kissed me;
And thus I say to little English boy,
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,
I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will then love me.
William Blake (1757-1827)
The Little Black Boy
Ain't it just beautiful, huh?
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