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Author Topic: The black manís lament  

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The black manís lament - An executionerís tale

I am the disdained one
Who carries out orders, to survive.
They call me the black man, under my mask.
How many people I have killed
In ten years of service?

I havenít counted; I canít do it.
I had been, once, a butcher and a slave.
My master, the magistrate, promised me freedom
And a good pay from the cityís coffers.
Could I have refused then? Now I wish I did.

My family has never starved since then,
Even if eating modest meals.
I was promised to be able to manumit my children
When theyíd be of the right age.
My son didnít wait; he ran away to freedom while young.

Ten years when I saw the last gaze of convicted
Men and women; even children who had as only blame
They stole a coin to survive, or they were born to wrong parents.
From the rich, disgraced victims, I had also the right
To lawfully get their expensive shoes and sell them afterwards.

Today I wish I died only a slave,
The butcher who had never killed a human being.
The crowd shouts, the execution must go on, I must hit.
Iím looking in the eyes of the pirate I have to execute
And I canít kill my own long estranged son.



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Information topic
  • Date: 31/08/13
  • Time: 08:43 PM
  • Number of visits: 1085
  • Number of Replies: 0
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