Pretenders to the Throne

This is not an English port, but it has a point.
Air full of humid, history and salt
and sky full of weather

this isn’t just a sea, son
it is the holy water of hope
where we come to be cleansed from the fickleness of  life
drink – drink but never forget
this is the ocean that brought us home

these are the songs of our loves, of our glories untold,

these doors craft our paths, ancient and old,
these patterns are the maze of our stolen strife,

these balconies stand out as a testament to life,

these dhows sway gently on our ancestry’s trance

this coral is our spine, this breeze is our dance

eat this, children – it is a thousand years of us
touch these walls and walk barefoot these alleyways.
Nargis, jasmine, ylang ylang. This is our oxygen.
Kiss these words, this language is our honey
String a garland of verse. This is our poetry.

here boys, we were made
and here, unmade

come and dance your streets, like kings for your throne

come and leave your mark for another thousand years

See that Fort, boys.
Endure.

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About A. I. Noormohamed

Human Rights Lawyer | Reads books & faded posters | Contrarian | Justice | Int'l Relations | Film, Travel, Theatre, Rock n' roll | Writes a few | and this is what it is like