Saturday, April 16, 2016

A strange and bitter crop

A poem with raw emotions.

Strange Fruit
By Abel Meeropol

Southern trees bear a strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black body swinging in the Southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.


Pastoral scene of the gallant South,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,
And the sudden smell of burning flesh!


Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.


Here's Nina Simone's version:

2 comments:

Ramesh said...

Why such dark thoughts on a weekend ?? Take a long walk by the Willamette , my friend.

Sriram Khé said...

Why such thoughts?
I answered that in the post today.
And, yes, I did walk by the river ...

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