and embrace your poor, black children.

Squeeze us, mother, squeeze us. Naked, naked, naked, naked, naked, naked,

as if they had been wronged, as if they had been defeated,

coming into your bosom. Give us your blessing

and erase all our wounds with a warm kiss.

….

….

She didn’t want to see her children

and she poured every complaint into her heart.

They hugged each other tightly and their kisses

the crossers took them high in their clouds

and they painted them with lightning, and the rays took them

of the sun, which illuminated them, and kept them hopeful.

Blessed thrice, blessed is the day

πwe have cursed your bosom, sweet sweet mother!

Aristotle Valaoritis (1864)