Sick, sick is the Black Brother,
and like a child fallen in mud,
he is alone where he dwells,
and who for him is sad?
He looks at me with his eyes,
but there’s an ocean between’s
sick, sick is my black brother,
terrified and closed in himself.
O who’s there to cry out!
I have no breath at all –
nor a word of consolation,
nor a name to blame for the fall.
He perishes on the horizon
like the last of sunrays at dusk.
And all I know is that now upon’s
falls a thicker and heavier dark.