Black Stone on Top of a White Stone
I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm,
On a day I already remember.
I shall die in Paris-- it does not bother me--
Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn.
It shall be a Thursday, because today, Thursday
As I put down these lines, I have set my shoulders
To the evil. Never like today have I turned,
And headed my whole journey to the ways where I am alone.
César Vallejo is dead. They struck him,
All of them, though he did nothing to them,
They hit him hard with a stick and hard also
With the end of a rope. Witnesses are: the Thursdays,
The shoulder bones, the loneliness, the rain, and the roads...
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Comments about this poem (Black Stone on Top of a White Stone by Cesar Vallejo )
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- Frog in the Well, Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- Heather Burns
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)