I was rooted in the huts of the Dark Continent,
Cheap dirty politics a course for rooting
Democracy, decomposing, degrading.
People incubating poverty, possessiveness
Other belching, boosting, balancing
Justice shattered, in shambles
Justice swept by storm.
I remember, I rememberIn the huts of the Dark Continent
I visited the labour ward
Raising children, the biggest portion of my life
Raising children, a lion’s share of my support.
People dined together, family friends,
The sun stunning, shimmering.
England is my mansion today:
I dine with my table and chairs, buzzing,
Thinking of my fractured family.
My unconscious mind connecting
Fogged dreams far across the sea,
A chorus of music: “mum we miss you”.
So many things went wrong with
Where I belonged and with my belongings.
But I promised to produce and provide,To keep and care for my family’s children
I see them landing in the country of safety
But the long journey of asylum presses,The speed was the pace of a snail,
I reached the destination tired and torn.
The journey paralysed by fear
Yawning yet not yelling
Blooded but not beaten
The journey punched a stroke.
I became a touristTo tour hospitals
As issues and concerns driving
On my little balance of life
Left me behind several decades
With a brain of an alien.
We cannot turn the clock backBut we can complain
You may not perform miracles
But you can support
We can’t change the law,
Which was made by the people for the people,
But we can twist the situation
In the struggle of reunion
We are human nature with sensationIn the name of Jesus.
Margaret Katula is a member of the SOLACE reading group. Currently led by Rachel Webster and Oliver Cross, this group has been reading selections from a poetry anthology entitled Being Human and from a nineteenth-century novel entitled Around the World in Eighty Days, by Jules Verne.