In the absolute pitch of trustless dark
I found the touch of your fingers!
I was not from the texture of night
even though it seemed darker than my fortune.
My skin was as dark as the heart of the white man
exploiting the nectar of my ancestor's land.
My bones are whiter than their skins
They saw it in my ivory smile
so they minded into my flesh,
the flesh of my land!
The man with the rotten bone looking for my ivory cure!
In order for him to sail on the Thames with pride
he had to plunder in the river of my blood
side by side with his river Thames
in Cimmerian shade of Congo.
He sailed on Congo
in between the wound of my land
in the shade of ivory
pulping out my torn sack of skin
the skin of their sinews less virtues,
like a pomegranate garden:
fleshy, juicy and crimson.
The bones that make his river whiter
his women brighter,
to conceal his black bones a little farther;
a little farther
but never farther than how he exposed my bones!
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Heart of Darkness (1899) a novella by Joseph Conrad
