The Far Pavilions

22 Mar

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With a heavy heart I wandered the streets

felt the pain of travel upon my feet
Absorbed the culture of an unknown beach
Crossed into lanes for treasures out of reach
Golden globes from India
I had to eat
Sat in the Pavilions
Under the mid day heat
Walked along the Pier
No one did I greet
Took myself along the promenade
My thoughts did I keep
Sat in a café drank tea
Wanted to weep
Heard jazz music
My soul did not leap
Browsed by bars
Did not take a seat
Welcomed in a church
Heard 99 words in a beat
Invited to dinner
C’est Magnifique
In a strangers’ home
Did we speak

Without a blessing
I fell asleep

 

 

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A broken history of my future

13 Feb

I acknowledge the past but I am my future
I can’t change the past as I am for the here & now and have to move forward
The pains of my parents during the Partition Years I cannot partake
the colour of colonialism I cannot shake
For I was not there
How dare I impress the burdens of the past
referencing history like shards of glass
picking up pieces for my own endless farce

Playing on words like it’s my history
I wasn’t even there, is a mystery
how monoculture reigns, re-think the legacy
Unlock the slaves, freedom is a fallacy
Remove the flags, swim through the Indus
Declasse we are, no need to remind us
My past is my memory, I cannot let go
The wars of the world, ebb and flow
I acknowledge the past but I am my future
Regardless of the story, into dust we will grow

Don’t sabotage the past for your own personal glory

BEAUTY IN THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

30 Jan

There is beauty in the kindness of strangers
Defending the weak from foul mouthed words
The vulnerable seeking support against abusive tirade
Black woman scorned and brown mate sworn at just for the colour of skin

There is beauty in the
Kindness of strangers
A bus full of “ethnicity”
Made to feel insecure by the majority
Unspoken words vocalised by a drunken minority
Anger fuelled by a dichotomy
Tissues at the ready
Snot smeared on the seat next to an ugly personality
Words of hate from lips of a woman who sounds like she’d had a lobotomy

Spitting sounds please call the psychiatry
Barriers created because there’s no chemistry
Skinny white woman shouts don’t look at me!
Black Swan responds don’t bother me
Brown English man in Green suit says no more bigotry

Hate filled words pollute the air with no dignity
Crash claimed hearts with vulgarity
Man came to part with some words of clarity
Took down the drunk with his love for community
Mate call the police for your sanity
Strange kind words spoke for humanity.

There is kindness in the beauty of strangers.

I am not a Beauty

5 Jan

I am not a Beauty
I am a Beast
There is a sadness in the air
Like Zombies walking, there is no care
No respect for the living
Forgotten are the dying
Dignity is the word of the past
The last one hundred years changed so fast
The World decaying, Love will not last.

I am not a Beauty
I am a Beast

You’ll never find my face

5 Jan

You’ll never find my face on the cover of a magazine,
Rupert Murdoch and magnates are not keen
On portraying people of colour
With high self esteem
Rather show faces
Looking scarred and mean
“Look at the face of the second class race”
Never the achievements of black/brown face.

You’ll never find my face on the mainstream channel
Presenting the news or the Oscars panel
Winning an award
Like it’s a soiled white flannel
Marking the territory like a scared dog in its kennel
My scent might contaminate the all-white Chanel

You’ll never find my face representing LGBT
The gay community doesn’t redefine me
People of Colour or B.A.M.E
Dodging the bullets
Headlines fuel it
Prejudiced wars ready to buy it
Spreading lies and lies like bullshit

You’ll never find my face on a large billboard
Filling the screen like a media whore
Communities treated like an oozing sore
Stamped all over, spit at your door
A few black faces in mainly white spaces
Small minded opinions horrified
“Lessen the monoculture!” we cried
Let’s celebrate media diversified.

We Are All Human

December Rain

18 Dec

December Rain

The green cavalcade worms it way through dry, arid sands before it retreats,
White sirens call for help
Whilst white helmets dip their hands in warm decay
Lift out souls day to day

A city once thriving
A population once living
A story hard to believe in
A young man hides in a room
With nervous voice at ready
Tells the world
The rain is heavy

December rain.

Choke back the tears
Don’t realise the fears
He seems like the walking dead
He keeps his sanity
On the brink of insanity
He loosens his tongue instead.

He describes the conditions
The loss of medication
The need for salvation
The loneliness and isolation
He focuses on the living
Like rats in a dark room
His words are full of pain
As he tries to ignore the rain

December rain.

He names the West for lack of trying
A sad regime keeps fighting the dying
Hearing voices he ignores the calling
The rain non stop, continues falling

December rain

He speaks from a cold empty space
Describes his world as a dark, dark waste
Saliva on his lips like honey would taste
As his eyes wide open says
There is no haste

For the December rain
Keeps burning down
Hot like fire
It’s a burning hell
Freedom for the fighters
Rebellious, pray tell
Dropped by the President
The rain has a shell.

Syria.

The Concept of Other – Pt 2.

9 Dec

The whole concept of “other” is strange to me. Being “Foreign”, “Alien” “Different” has negative connotations and represents fear of the unknown.
When I was a child, I didn’t “fit in” with the boys rough and tumble in the playground. I didn’t feel comfortable with the gender role created for us – boys in blue play football, girls in pink play with dolls. I wanted to play with dolls. I was “different”
With my friends in secondary school, I felt excluded. It was a multicultural, mixed faith comprehensive school. I identified as Asian, but not Asian enough.
With my Pakistani Muslim peers, I wasn’t either Pakistani or Muslim enough. I was more “Punjabi” because I wasn’t from the Mirpur and I didn’t speak the native language.
With my Sikh and Hindu friends, who stated their families originated from India, in particular from the Punjab, I wasn’t a true “Punjabi” as I was neither Sikh nor Hindu. I was “different”.
My identity seemed mixed up, like a mongrel ready to be put down.
Within my own family, i couldn’t quite connect with my brothers, who seemed to mock me whenever they had the chance. I was slow and dim witted, a loner and isolated in my own world. I was “different” and on the peripherals of the brotherly dynamics, hardly ever included in the socialisation of siblings, although the rivalry fell with abundance. A machismo world full of masculinity and hormones, Friday and Saturday night was club night and I stayed at home. I didn’t “fit in”.
i didn’t fit in because I didn’t talk sports, sex or state “She’s fit!”
I didn’t fall into the category of heteronormativity.
I laid the blame at my asexuality.
When I explored my sexuality, visited several pubs and clubs, opened my eyes to the world of homosexuality, I didn’t fit in. I had no label to hold my name. I wasn’t a “type” that could fit in. Not an otter, bear or whatever label is fashionable. I had no boxes to “fit in”
My religiosity was hidden. No prayers 5 times a day, or a pilgrimage to hajj. I didn’t show my faith, so couldn’t possibly be Muslim. I didn’t “fit in” like birds of a feather. Although i have read the Qur’an and the Bible and carry my own moral compass, worked with the most vulnerable in society, the poor and the needy, provide to charity in my own way. The colour of my skin highlights my heritage and origins, but when I speak, my voice is clear (as if you can’t be one colour and sound like another)
I’ve been told even my voice is “different” – a hybrid of London, Birmingham, with a slight twang of “theatrics” thrown in.
Am i from the North or the South? I am neither. My voice and accent is just part of me and who I am.
I met my partner who doesn’t say “You’re different”.
He knows who I am and loves me for who I am.
Our hearts, minds and spirits transcend the superficial world of “you don’t fit in”. We are so different, yet similar. We are chalk and cheese, like two worlds colliding. Yet we fit so well together.
We acknowledge and recognise that acceptance of others is key to moving forward.
I recognise we all have issues, stresses and factors that shape us. We all have identities which are unique.
Our DNA tells us we are unique individuals.
All our identities are multifaceted.

Did you know in the late 1940s and 1950s, the sci-fi movies created in America at the time were a part of a political propaganda, at a time when Americans felt they were being “invaded” by other countries, and policies, especially in relation to communism? and isn’t it ironic that here in the 21st century, USA is pedalling more Superhero/sci fi movies than ever before at a time when there is a global crisis, a fear of the unknown and countries being “flooded” with immigrants ?? Just think about that for one moment.

We fear the unknown, yet we say we love the “uniqueness” of individuals and to celebrate our “differences”.
In todays world, there is so much division, we can’t just focus on the differences and ignore all the similarities.
As in my relationship, It’s the similarities which bonds us together.