Hello, Goodbye

Not a sound was heard, not a breath was taken

Except a new life on a cold January morning

Shrouded in white, she lay still in a box

Ready to be buried in earth, rubble and rocks

Her little round face, tinged blue

Her large shut eyes, a purple hue

We tread damp earth, our arms across our chests

Quietly gathered around her final resting place

Prayers were said, words were spoken

Her father's dry rasps, the wind had stolen


I wonder what will become of her

After she has crumbled into the soil

And birthed dandelions and ferns

*work in progress


A vibrant life


His jubilant cry

Taken by the wind

Like the soft seeds

Of a dandelion

He failed to blow

Now lost

In the breeze

Where do we belong?

Where do we belong?
The generation that left

Three decades ago
Our culture held fast in our fists
Refusing to release

Or fully integrate
For fear of betrayal
Only to return and find
Bangladesh has moved on
Without us


You are here

Home is a card board box

Torn at the edges

Damp in one corner

And mouldy in the other

Have you a pound?

Just for a cuppa

But they walk on by

Eyes glazed over

Staring straight ahead


Before religion and culture and tradition and sexuality

And money and class and race and gender

Beyond the countries we were born in, the cities we grew up in

The houses we lived in and the schools we went to

The friends we made, the jobs we worked

Despite what we are told by politicians on TV

The deceit that seeps into our minds

And the hate that is fed through our fears and ignorance

We are humans

Baby language

He speaks words of untainted innocence

Ones that we are unable to comprehend


Beauty lies not in your outer later

But in the strength it took you

To make the decision to leave

And in the act that followed after

There is a sense of disbelief

Wonder and admiration

In your journey

The long hard walk to a new life

Leaving your feet blistered

And your hands callused

Your scars, my dear

Are a badge of your courage

And your courage, my darling

Is a mirror of your beauty


The city where we are afraid to make eye contact and smile at each other

Because it’s weird and we just don’t do that

Where immigrants migrate to

Adding a variety of colours, food, smells, practises and celebrations

Yet stick to the shops and neighbours that speak the same language as them

A city that’s overpopulated

Trains jam packed like sardines in a tin can

Squashed up against men with big beards

And women with pointy handbags

So painfully close

Yet so far apart


And emotionally