A poem with a feeling that resonates with many


1. Identity


Goddess of wisdom, letters drenched in orange, white and green.

Soft sounds,submissive nature not at all like me. 


Who am I?

A foreign tongue, words and phrases I could nod to but never say or write.

Merely a coat of paint to represent me.

Your spice and pretty dresses entice me  and rich culture makes me weak at my knees.

I want to believe, but to believe you must have belief.

And I don't believe in any of your beliefs, believe me I've tried.

My mind a vector shifted to the west, far from the east and permanent.

So far, I can't seem to connect, just fuzzy images and blinking lights.


To little for the east and too much for the west, a letter of rejection addressed to

my skin and bone.

Who am I?

My culture teaches of quiet, pretty girls and doctors and engineers with long, luscious black hair and painted face.

I long to drift away and make something of me, dye my hair, cut it short and remain bare.

I want to fit in.

Where do I belong?

My music and clothes mark me as British and my accent not far from the queen but my heritage yells out and says stay here, you belong.

Then why do I feel like a visitor?

A traveller seeking to find adventure.

I may be from the same cloth but this design is flawed, twisted , altered.

A mutant in the crowd, trying to camouflage but you can't hide when you're brown in a sea of black and white.

Who am I?


I scream to the wind, hoping to feel the answer.

I look in the mirror and feel my skin.

Below we are all just ruby red and calcium, why do I not belong.

I couldn't recite the story of Rama and Sita nor do I have an Uncle Jack or Aunt Sue.

My heart drums to the beat of the Ganges whilst in a Savile Row suit.

I run for the bright red 60, with the latest Bollywood hit in my ears.

Sunday roast on a Friday and visits to the temple where I stare blankly and pray.        


         Four sides 

 to a                    square     

           and tick.


I don't know.

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