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Thursday, March 10, 2011

The Little Black Boy


I’ve a love for words, ever since I started to learn reading, quite late actually to the irritation of my parents. With the affection of words, my love affair with poetry was inevitable. Last night I was reading through my poetry collection, though it was a random reading but then I came across to great English poet William Blake's (1757 –1827), poem “The Little Black Boy”, with deep words, this is the touchiest poem I’ve ever read. This poem is so unique and has such a strong symbolic message without any religious entanglements. It reminds us that human being lost their path. It was written in the time when discrimination on the basis of colour, divided the world, it might not be the case today but racism is very much exist, however it changes its forms.

It’s true that racism is become obvious when people take their beliefs public. It becomes visible when prejudice becomes behaviour. So, to get rid of racism we have to work on the prejudice, the theories and ideas that are the true cause of racial problems in a society. William black tried to teach us in simple words that how we can get rid of this menace from society......... 

My mother bore me in the southern wild, 
And I am black, but O, my soul is white! 
White as an angel is the English child, 
But I am black, as if bereaved 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 at 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 
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. 

'For when our souls have learned 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.

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