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Poetry is Peng – October

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Wednesday morning, London Underground

The men in my sight

Standing, sitting or even in the next coach

Are all wearing shirts

This is probably what being an adult is like

Time is just shirts with ties

And shirts with the first button let loose

Be it good or bad,

Life is no more than taking off one shirt

And putting on another

By Ruixuan Li, MPhil/PhD African Languages and Cultures

City of Orphans

Fields of Gold,
India go Back,
Burhan town is Here,
Softy from little Hut,
Foreshore to Nigeen,
Tuj from the Dars,
City of Orphans,
Fields of Gold,
Jawaharnagar is Home,
The floods killed my Home,
Nanu in the Maqbarah,
Aba reflects in Sadness,
The Hamam has the best Wifi,
My house is no longer a Home,
Where did Hasana Kaka Go?
City of Orphans,
Fields of Gold,
Aapi is Married,
Musa will be Soon,
Grey clouds fall Down,
Sunlight bleeds Through,
I see it Now,
Hazratbal singing the Testimony,
The men pray on the Dal,
City of Orphans,
Fields of Gold,
Falcons are Soaring,
Wazwan a Burden,
Prayer for Mamani,
Shikara upon the Waters,
Save Burma save Gaza,
City of Orphans,
Fields of Gold,
Rivers of Red,
Streets of Stones,
India go Back,
Aazadi will Come,
Where is my Home?
I don’t speak Koshur,
You keep dying for What?
A city of Orphans?
For fields of Gold.

By Eissa Dar, MA Near and Middle Eastern Studies


An ode to the brown woman

they don’t deserve you

crawling in your anger – you scare them, but you empower us.

it take courage to express what many have never bothered to do

giving the brown woman a voice

we belong here and we’re here to stay.

being skilful and intelligent,

that’s what got us here.

your latest diversity report says different,

but we know the score.

we’re not ashamed to be brown anymore

we’re enlightening you all…


By Raheema Khan, MA Postcolonial Studies



The Not So Innocent

She came alone as always.
Once kind-hearted, once care-free, But times now are making her pay. Counting the clients like one, two three.

The barman triggered by her presence knew she wouldn’t speak. A frail smile as if he knew why she was here again,
She was here tonight to seek,
The search adding to her pain.

The same stiff drink as always. Once in love, once full of fun,
But times now are here to stay. Counting to the end like three, two, one.

The gentleman captivated by her appearance knew what she was after. A cold caress as if he owned her body already,
She was not here for laughter,
The emptiness made her ready.

They think they understand her, Eyes watching from close and afar. She knew this wasn’t her worth,

She knew these times were creating a scar.

This isn’t who she is and hopes it isn’t who she will be, But the others cannot seem to be able to see.
The eyes in the room can create a lie,
It’s the not so innocent one that’s going home to cry.

By Austyn Close (BA History and International Relations)

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