Sheena Blackhall Poems
I can't imagine dying in this land.
The neighbours here have doors graffiti-red
‘Why are you brown? ' another pupil asked
‘I think because my folks are brown, ' I said
Out on our landing, someone's dumped a bed
I dream in Hindi. I don't understand
The baby words in English in my school book
At games, or dancing, no one takes my hand
I miss the smells of curry, frangipani,
The steaming chai at Delhi's teeming stalls
The cooking fires. I even miss the sewers
The thieving monkeys with their chattering calls
I miss the temple incense, the bright ...
Cement is lashed to a frenzy by showers of rain,
Envelopes sigh like fans at the postman's knock,
Piglets scream like kettles
As the mash bin announces its coming;
Beads grow incandescent beneath a chandelier,
And have you noticed how cash-cards
Twitch when tills start to ring?
Gatherings, meetings, events,