Her hair covered
Her head down
A baby in the push chair
Not one familiar place around.
The shop girl served her,
Speaking loud and slow
The lady understood
What their was to know.
I sensed a patronising tone,
As the shop girl spoke
The lady didn’t realise
The condensation invoked.
The man with the tattoos
Stared and screwed up his face
Words muttered as she walked past, Something about her race.
The lady woke up
To find ‘go home’ painted bold on her front door
She was upset and confused
For her home was no more.
Her home was torn to pieces
Riddled with war and poverty
She had no choice but to leave
And come here as a minority.
She’s worried for her child
Apprehensions about school
And the welcoming he’ll receive
From teachers, peers - them all.
Muslims have been racialised
To increase shared ideals and values
Strengthening the cultural ignorance
Incited by the news.
These patriotic people
That live with us in Britain
Through fear they cause anxiety
For those like the lady mentioned.
She’s felt the wrath of pain already
Please now let her be
She’ll learn the language slow and steady
She doesn’t need a 3rd degree.
We can’t chose where we’re born,
The religion, race and culture
But we can choose if we scorn
Treating difference like a vulture.
Her eyes were forced to witness
The life leave her young sons body
And the bullet that took his life away
Was distributed by our country.
Our nation has done enough
To cause the pain and suffering
So please just be more kind
To make her life worth baring.