The black glassmaker by Rabéarivele

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The black glassmaker

whose countless eyeballs none has ever seen

whose shoulders none has overlooked 

that slave all clothed in pearls of glass

who is strong as Atlas 

and who carried seven skies on his head 

one would think that the vast river of clouds might carry him away,

the river in which his loincloth is already wet.

A thousand particles of glass 

fall from his hands 

but rebound towards his brow

shattered by mountains 

where the winds are born.

And you are witness of his daily suffering 

and of his endless task;

you watch his thunder-riddled agony 

until the battlements of the East re-echo

the conches of the sea- 

but you pity him no more

and do not even remember 

that his sufferings begin again 

each time the sun capsizes.