Heba Khalid

London

London was someone else’s dream
A new chapter within a book that did not belong to me
I packed my life into a suitcase
Left my mother’s embrace
For someone else’s dream

I paced in front of four new walls
Hoping I’d burn my marks into the carpet
Cause a great fire
and have to evacuate these halls

London was not meant for me
Not meant for my frequent pitfalls
The men, women and children in suits were appalled
Was I merely being weak?
I hiked up to Buckingham Palace to consult with the
Queen:
Why don’t the people smile when they walk?
A mystery unsolved

I spent so many days ignored
The rain began to speak

It said:
The North calls

 

 

Father

The children shrink before your scars, but they do not know
Your elephant skin carries the marks of 3 lost wars and,
a car crash that was never your fault

I should think you are immortal now
Still
You feel pain

If I could I would take it all and make it mine
I’d force the continents to realign,
bring them closer so you don’t miss grandmother’s deadline
You worry too much
I’ll make it so that it’s fine
You’ll see:
I’ll threaten your aches and pains until they become benign
Bury your debts in the Tigris river
I’ll force your eyesight to refine
Make your enemies shiver
Not from the cold
But for all the pain they did deliver
I’ll master my battle cry
But I won’t promise not to whine

For I fear the day
Your heart forgets and skips its line

I’m 19 years-old and split my time between Manchester and London, where I study Law. I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember, I initially started writing poems to impress my mother whenever I got myself in trouble. Now, I write so that I can look back on past experiences and frustrations.