Sunday Poem: Black Russians

taste like my beloved:

Russians, like many Others, dubbed the blacks of Europe—
through him I see my shadow
come to light:

the rest is rust
and stardust,

a black hole of promise—
I knew you were the one
when I saw you walk calmly through the fire

and it was then I prayed the flames
never completely bite the dust;
my love

when I look at you I am drowning
in the sky and stardust, and all rust
turns to gold


By Adebe DeRango-Adem


*This piece was partly inspired by Robert Fikes Jnr’s piece about African presence in Russia for



Afropean, writer, photographer, broadcaster, music geek.

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