Patchwork

I am a blind seamstress

For three years you watched me undress

You take pleasure in what I can’t see

Normalised to taking your word and consuming it, whilst the sentences consumed me

I am a blind seamstress

Wanting only to mend

Gentle hands work in the dark in fear of reprimand

Eggshells crunch beneath cold feet

Heightened senses, echoes loud

Overbearing so I can’t speak

 

Sometimes reduced to a whisper

 

 

But love heals all in good time

 

Even my wounds of mishaps with needle and thread

Skin like paisley, dappled crimson red

 

But I just wanted to fix and bind

Honestly, I didn’t mind

I didn’t mind until I’d tried every patchwork under the sun

I was so selfishly selfless because you said I was the one.

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Swatch Card

MY ARM HAIR IS NOT UP FOR DEBATE. IT IS THICK AND DARK LIKE MY HISTORY.

I HOPE IT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE AND CRUMPLE YOUR BROW. TELL ME AGAIN,

WHO IS EXOTIC NOW?  AND TAKE THAT OFF YOUR FOREHEAD.

DON’T TELL ME THAT MY HAIR LOOKS BETTER STRAIGHT OR TO SMILE MORE.

THEY ASK WHERE I COME FROM THEN DISMISS MY FIRST ANSWER LIKE I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND THE QUESTION. LIKE I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND THE DIRECTION OF THE CONVERSATION. I SPEAK OF HERTFORSHIRE WITH CONFIDENCE YET THEY WANT TO HEAR MIGRATION PATHS AND CLASS.

I SEE THEIR SWATCH CARD.

CATCH HARSH GLIMPSES OF IT THROUGH THEIR SLURS.

DANGEROUS.

BUT NOT AS MUCH AS OUR WORDS. WE DO NOT CRAVE THEIR VALIDITY. THERE IS NOTHING TO HIDE. My skin is drenched in humility as much as it is pride.

I come from ground cinnamon, turmeric and chai. From Swahili and Cymru. Gujarati and grace.

But they demand one place.

One definitive location. One single race.

 

 

Please, allow me to serve this pint, sir.

Now, how does that taste?

haha

 

felt

damp paper

watch the margins bleed

ink from pen absorbs hastily

soaking in pigments from all directions

the paper rises like tiny sand dunes

 

felt-like and telling

 

salt tears

materialised fears in blue ovals, dotted i and crossed t

the page consumes and bares dappled wounds

 

 

 

inconsistant

without brother
two sisters
two mothers
once two fathers
but now, one

without sun
without bedroom
multiple cities
walls and accents
always
gravitate towards the north
this island, so miniature
though, not humble
sure, I stumble with my heavy rucksack
I pack a few pieces of fabric
to warm my long limbs

a few pieces of paper
bound on the left side
hoping they accept my melanchonic ink

Aji-ma કવિતા

Two plaits hang delicately

reaching the base of her fractured spine

four foot ten with the resilience of a mountain

which, like her, must erode

and transform with time

though, this is in the morning

before the daily-worn armor of tracksuits and trainers

before the plaits wrap and entwine

and create her crown of security and strength

she faces each day in each way it comes

ever-more aware of the cold, yet, still resting in the northern sun

layers intact

the garden swing sways with feet on chairs rested

long silences lead me to wonder what the right words are to say

so, instead we sit side-by-side and gaze at the horses across the stream

parent and foal

00

Dear Applicant

IMG_20150417_153805

One hundred and thirty seven pence

The landlord will not debate

Or differentiate

Between my twenty summers

And twenty springs

And others’ twentysomething winters

And their twentysomething springs

I pay my rent, but first

Pay my good mind as a labouring entity

The bottom line must be precise

It cannot afford recognition of like-for-like ability

Sustenance never fails to forget my birthday

I am worth one hundred and thirty seven pence more in May

11th Bedroom

A bookshelf filled with knowledge

Supporting a globe, silver and grey

Replica

So saturated in life

Condensed into a sphere

With all shades of grey and silver

Borders divide river

Forest and marshland

Hands

Of families who reside

On arid land masses

Whose ancestors sung proud in an archaic tongue

Unknown to the ear of the present day young

Books beneath the globe

Tell all that was omitted

All that was permitted

By mortals

Who thrived on the same terrain

Who once felt they had something to gain

Entitled to a purpose