“Maps and Memory Loss”
The Brits still mutter of minarets,
Of curry streets and deeper debts.
They fear their pubs may lose their crown,
If Bradford dares to brown the town.
They clutch the past with tea-stained hands,
While shadows stretch from distant lands.
“Don't let it become Pakistan!” — they shout,
As if empire hadn’t paved that route.
Meanwhile in Deutschland, silence grows,
Where playgrounds hum in Turkish prose.
The kids speak both, but dream in none,
Born between a rising sun.
No flags, no fear, no open rage —
Just papers lost on every page.
The state forgets, and no one asks
Who lifts the weight, who wears the masks.
They do not scream of nations lost,
They carry bags, they count the cost.
Not feared, not loved — just undefined,
The children of a deaf-blind mind.