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azzan Mar 2020
Coconut, coconut, coconut,
Stained white on the inside,
Brown on the out.

Hit it on its head,
Slash it apart.
Nourish it with spices,
Of a Southern past.

Fuzzy to touch,
Lined in coir.
The remaining path
In defining who we are.

Droplets of the Ganges,
Drowned in the Thames.
A conflicted soul,
In search of a cleanse.

Coconut, coconut, coconut,
That one's spoiled!
So send him back.
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if you were to rise
against the lashes
your spine bears
witness to.i know you
could burn the cities -
echoing enslaved
cries of your mother. or,
the cities tainted in
red, with the blood
of your father.

but, you don't.

for you know what it's like to lose
what you love.

(such is your love for a city that turned into rubble everything you
ever loved)

— The End —