357

God is a distant—stately Lover—
Woos, as He states us—by His Son—
Verily, a Vicarious Courtship—
“Miles”, and “Priscilla”, were such an One—

But, lest the Soul—like fair “Priscilla”
Choose the Envoy—and spurn the Groom—
Vouches, with hyperbolic archness—
“Miles”, and “John Alden” were Synonym—

Its so strange, to have a sister
Not one of blood, but worse, born in pain
Did she dream of one day her real mother
Coming to the door?
Would she pack a bag
or leave without saying good bye?
Did she dream of this like me?

Its so weird, for her to say to me
The things I think, felt and feel
Its like a racetrack
going off the rails
But so sad

You know all the whys
All the hows, and deep scars
A hiding game of
Don't say this, admit that
I know where the secrets are
What pains most, at right now
How it eats, and twists the knife

And perfectly why
my mirror won't say
Never admit, never surrender
The pain, pain, pain
Broken shards, mirror me
Almost exactly the same way

Are we so similar, half a world away
that when I read your words, I feel your pain
How could we both be broken, exactly the same way?
Mother's, father's and loves, heartbreak and children done
Then to see the pain, a recent secret she won't give away

But don't you worry, Dear, its safe with me
I won't bring it up, I'll let it be
If you want to talk, I am all ears
But you've done everything but scream it
Trying to hide it, all but saying the words
Its such a great pain, only we might know
Let the weight of it relax, let me hold you close

Scary, that we're sisters, born of pain
Histories, have been
Too similar in experience,
I want nothing more than
to be sure your success

359

I gained it so—
By Climbing slow—
By Catching at the Twigs that grow
Between the Bliss—and me—
It hung so high
As well the Sky
Attempt by Strategy—

I said I gained it—
This—was all—
Look, how I clutch it
Lest it fall—
And I a Pauper go—
Unfitted by an instant’s Grace
For the Contented—Beggar’s face
I wore—an hour ago—

I think that I shall never see
A leaf as lovely without a tree
When it falls upon the ground
So gently placed to be found.
A child gathers it in her hands
Carefully places it on the sands
Hoping to grow a brand new tree
For all the world new life to see.

After all, we're not savages. We're English.
And the English are the best at everything.
                                                     ­       (Piggy)
The hovelled huts
Near  school house ditches
Hardly sheltered starving children.
Emaciated, pale and ghastly,
Three million lost.
Exports defined them,
Imports denied them,
The world was told their hunger
Was the wrath of God.
For seven hundred years
Untolled Rachels wept;
Twice as long
As Jews were kept
Enslaved in pagan Egypt.
This was Ireland,
Not Auschwitz.

Beneath the banners of
Labour and Freedom,
Toiled the innocents.
Eyes burning from hot peppers,
Bodies weak and wrecked
From boarding;
Skin separated by flogging
Thousands of Cypriots.

Over soup and sandwiches
A demarcation's drawn,
So Hindus now face Muslims
Seeking their new homes.
Three million displaced
During lunch,
Brain salad served up on a hunch
By a line
Drawn by one man.
This wasn't Treblinka,
But Pakistan.

Millions fenced in labour camps
In what they called  
The Dark Continent.
The torture was horrendous,
With random executions.
Think the worse, you're still not there,
Think ravenous dogs and mutilation,
**** and human degradation.
Eyes gouged out, ears cut off,
This was Kenya,
Not Warsaw.

Sir Winston wore
His crocodile shoes,
Feigning the blues,
While blocking friendly supplies;
Letting three million hungry die.
His callousness was cruelly matched
When delivering Mahatma's epithet:
“Has Gandhi not starved yet?”
This was Bengal,
Not Dachau.

Their ****** count adds up.
Their new policy was errant:
Imprison all the peasants.
It was racist to the Nth degree,
A million desperate detainees
To exile when they're freed.
But half died on their knees
In Malay,
Not Buchenwald.


The Boer War and Apartheid
Were blessed with Royal Assent.
In Amritsar Brits opened fire,
To cut down Innocents.

This isn't just in history,
It's happened all too recently.

Argentina's watery graves
Gurgle from The Belgrano,
Sunk by Royal torpedoes
For a rock of sheep.
Such was the work
Of a band of brothers,
To fly their flag
Over Falkland waters?

There's no denying
The atrocities
Of her maternal
Ferocities.
The Spinners
Wrapped their glories
Furled in Jack's war stories.
The winners
Have detoured their crimes,
Enjoin us denouncing
**** times;
But the sun hasn't set
On Empire fires:
China, India, Kenya, Aden,
Ireland, Africa,
All invaded.
All degraded.
Imperialism is not benign,
The legacy lives on
In Palestine.

Under pretence
Of flag and king,
The English are
Best at everything.

I am a victim
Of crimes against
Humanity.
Being members thereof,
We are perpetrators
Sharing the accused's glass box
Or standing as a witness.

With arms raised
We surrender with deference
To pulpits, daises, chambers, courts,
Banks and dealers.
In a slight of mind
We conferred,
Then anointed
The con-men
and
The can women.

It's spellbinding.
Almost pointless.
We won't insist one
Indict one's self.

I can feel the shoreline fill my lungs.
Summer is on the tip of our tongues.
We'll dance towards the ocean without even knowing,
The gleam of the sun keeping our smiles still showing.
I can feel the grass caress me now.
It tells me of the rest it will allow.
The breeze sweeps me up and tells me tales
Of past respite its given us and our sails.