Zubyre Parvez Poems

The feather spun downward
Through the changing skies
Into our hands
As the clocks move
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I write my work at the coffee table
My steaming cup, words chased and followed
The table of times searched and read
I look within my heart for my words as map
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What flag falsely flown could tell
What colours could show
What talk could unfurl
Whose to spell out our name
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The apple does not fall far from the oak
Old English Proverb

Those old folk were Columbus's
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I grew up in Forest gate
Where Henry VIII went
Hunting, his name a gate.
I went to Elmhurst School
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My spine a book let me tell you
There was the fracture of my back
Dislocated from past I travel
Back on track through jointed map
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I write of the things that connect us
Words on threads
Pathways in the garden
We are closer than you think
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Met you at Stratford Theatre
Behind the facades backstage
You gave me your number
Trips to White City council estate
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We bust leafy lyrics over the speakers
Over the campus Wall Hall
Where we built and talked our walk
Drank till we were stoned
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