Poetry International Poetry International
Gedicht

Zeyar Lynn

Chronicle of Kings

Father was temperamental. A cane always at his fingertips.
A thunderbolt of a whim. Little brother fled him up into 
A tree. He still has yet to come down. Father had felled that tree.
Mother’s body was a refugee camp.
Strange, all the siblings managed to grow up there.
When mother died, father shook her corpse like a maniac.
Then . . . he disappeared. No news whatsoever.
All his children now have their own families.
Whose child will be his incarnation?
We remain on the lookout for his shadow.

Chronicle of Kings

Chronicle of Kings

Close

Chronicle of Kings

Chronicle of Kings

Father was temperamental. A cane always at his fingertips.
A thunderbolt of a whim. Little brother fled him up into 
A tree. He still has yet to come down. Father had felled that tree.
Mother’s body was a refugee camp.
Strange, all the siblings managed to grow up there.
When mother died, father shook her corpse like a maniac.
Then . . . he disappeared. No news whatsoever.
All his children now have their own families.
Whose child will be his incarnation?
We remain on the lookout for his shadow.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère