Today a new colleague asked me : “Where are you from?”
and she told me that I don’t look Indian.
She shrugged off my reply and said: “What about your parents then?”
I told her: “From Bradford, second generation.”
An old colleague confuses me with the last Asian face
Alma’s been on maternity leave for nearly a year and my name is too hard to remember.
When I correct him he struggles to say Selina
and jokes that my name could be easier.
What is a soul?
Is it who you are?
We can’t see it but can we touch it?
Is it so deep it’s too far?
Where is my soul? Will anyone know?
If I open my heart will they both show?
What’s in a heart? Look deeper in vein or is that too vain?
My deepest secrets trapped in chains.
If I make a change will my soullessness fade?
A quiet storm unlocks the pain.
Rupturing dams pent up, built up, built upon, relayed over to pump the dead inside.
Cutting deep, weeding the weeps in the willows, unearthing where a pure soul resides.
Somewhere over the cracked rib,
Away far below the tear ducts,
That’s where I’ll find it.
Where do I begin
From the outside looking in,
Always living in a dream world imagining…
hopes & wishes spinning in aspiration winning,
taking over my whole being.
Concentration lax in planning pen to paper-wax..
Self fulfilling prophesy got lost on me, well yes that’s me!
People shout self doubt grows loud.
You want to be lyrical – girl you need a miracle.
You can’t even look them in the eye, are you weird or are you shy?
Stutters and mutters. Mumbles & fumbles, a sheep in the jungle.
They want to lead her they think they can teach her.
Cuz she always rambles & she’s always random.
You say, I am then, roll on in tandem, defeat them in spite them.
Listen to what they say?
They say: to avoid criticism – do nothing, say nothing – be nothing.
What is this existence? You have to start living.