POEM: Where I want to be

(Note this was drafted before Christmas)


England may have a white Christmas again.

The air is sharper,

Grass looking greyer,

Sun advancing later,

Retreating earlier,

Shops looking red, white and greener,

Parents’ wallets emptier

As children’s hands get fuller,

Landscapes looking barer

As new life fears to grow anymore.

No frost,

No snow yet

But my bloodless fingers are divining in that direction.

Never mind the thermometer,

The extra bodies that would’ve cushioned us

All headed south for the Brexit

Abandoning us to the omnipresent lovelessness.

Millennia ago God warned Yima

In Zarathushtra’s texts

Of the onset of God’s dark side:

A winter, so deadly cold

Only the fittest of humans & plants & animals

Deserved to survive it

By living underground for a thousand years.

Might we be seeing its return?

Might Jesus’s death have not been enough

To quench God’s breath of death

Blowing upon this side of the world?

What to do?

What to do…?

What to do…

Brain retreating from consciousness.

Heart supplying less due to decreasing demand.

Lights out for the optics.


And dream

And remember a place

Where love was inescapable,

Where people were interested in knowing you,

Speaking to you,

Hearing you,

Children greeting you with a hug

Without fear of being politically incorrect.

Beaches remember they’re meant to be sandy

Not stony.

Even crocodiles are so satiated

You can touch them without danger.

Chickens, goats, cows and donkeys

Grow up knowing what outdoors looks like.

Ask and you really shall receive;

The thousand helping hands that in the West

Would be stretching underhanded from a distance

Here are unashamed to lead you,

Write you into the pages of history,

The scene of your destiny.

In the birthplace of Jollof rice,

Yassa, domoda, sorrel and baobab juice

Fill the soul as well as the stomach

Then a Vimto to top it off.

Property is proper

Cheap enough to not need rent or mortgage,

To actually belong to me.

Citizens have evolved

Past the Qur’an’s rule to lower their gaze

Because women needn’t fear for their modesty.

Curious, fascinated and lusting

Eyes on me;

Melaninated huwriy existing before Judgement Day.

This is it.

I’ve made up my mind.

This is where I want to be.

This is where I’m meant to be.

This is where I feel at ease laying roots

Maybe inspiring a new Alex Haley.

This is home.


© One Tawny Stranger, November 2017

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