A Song of Freedom (for Asif Khan)

From the splintered nations of Africa

through London and the endless rows

of houses, repetitive as sin, orphans 

of empire barged along the Avon 

in the wake of restored galleons, symbols 

of our mothers’ grief, our fathers’ shame

on a river that forgave, but would never forget

our tortured questions of birthright that rise 

with vespers from Bristol Cathedral 

where newly ordained curates stroll

across College Green to embrace 

children in starched dresses and suits 

under the gaze of Raja Ram Mohan Roy, 

books tucked under his arm, in this city of refuge.

***

A poem for the writers from the African Diaspora, who participated in the Yardstick Festival: Lorna Goodison, Tanya Shirley, Lemn Sissay, Warsan Shire, Mukoma Wa Ngugi, Nick Makoha, Leeto Thale, Jamal Safari, Emman Egya Sule, Nii Ayikwei Parkes, Dean Atta, Chioma Okereke, and Dee Jarrett Macauley;  the organizer, Asif Khan and his team: Yoma Smith, David Danderson, Bertel Martin, Sam Downie, and Jon Craig; and Faruk Choudhury, the Lord Mayor of Bristol, a city of refuge.

Yardstick Festival Authors: Dean Atta

I Am Nobody's Nigger

Rappers when you use the word "nigger" remember that's one of the last words Stephen Lawrence heard, so don't tell me it's a reclaimed word.

I am nobody's nigger
So please, let my ancestors rest in peace
Not turn in their graves in Jamaica plantations
Or the watery graves of the slave trade 
Thrown overboard into middle passage 
Just for insurance claims
They were chained up on a boat
As many as they could manage and stay afloat
Stripped of dignity and all hope 
Awaiting their masters and European names
But the sick and the injured were dead weight to toss
And Lloyds of London would cover that cost.

I am nobody's nigger
So you can tell Weezy and Drake 
That they made a mistake 
I am nobody's nigger now
So you can tell Kanye and Jigga 
I am not a nigger... in Paris
I'm not a nigger in London
I'm not a nigger in New York
I'm not a nigger in Kingston
I'm not a nigger in Accra
Or a nigger with attitude in Compton
Cos "I don't wanna be called yo nigga"

How were you raised on Public Enemy
And still became your own worst enemy?
You killed Hip Hop and resurrected headless zombies 
That can't think for themselves or see where they're going
Or quench the blood lust because there's no blood flowing
In their hearts, just in the streets 
They don't give a damn as long as they eating
Their hearts ain't beating, they're cold as ice (bling)
Because they would put money over everything
Money over self respect or self esteem
Or empowering the youth to follow their dreams
Stacking paper cos it's greater than love it seems
Call me "nigger" cos you're scared of what "brother" means

To know that we share something unspeakable
To know that as high as we rise we are not seen as equal
To know that racism is institutional thinking
And that "nigger" is the last word you heard before a lynching.