Middle class racism

The talk talks talking endlessly
No point made but stories of self-centred ‘I know, I know your culture’
They forced a pause on you, in order to let them guess what part of the Indian subcontinent you hail from
South as the only exploration, like you have no other home

Piled on top of that you have the unruly brown man
The media loves to hate, and yes I love to hate, and the hate is hate, a lot of hate
Orientalism reeks like a swollen rat in a cellar, swelled by death as it lies in its own blood
And no guesses of it’s death, but the smell left in your nostrils makes you retch

The dark skinned stranger’s touch on a white girl’s flesh sparks riots in the street
Frothing in the mouth they shout in irrationalities, blindness, and anger
Our women, our private property, our land and soil and our history, all of a sudden soiled, smeared
Imprints of the slave left on her lost innocence, how dare he have climbed so high

But where are the brown women and what is she?
Over shadowed, veiled out, un-sexualised
Shaded her platform
Black cloth blowing in static, barren air
A statue, a meek woman, backward, ignorant, slate easily written on

They’re all a problem, Muslims, they are.
But George, Helena and Joseph pretend to be interested to help
At their next suit and tie monopoly arrangement,
The monopoly of staying power
Some dinner, ball, their champagne breaths will exchange ‘I owe yous’
Firm handshakes and behind the scene, dirty sheets
And then someone will whip out their favourite past time
An overused photo of melanin skinned faces, veiled and unveiled
Like bringing up embarrassing photos
They’ll laugh at them together
But between them, someone’s blood will rush and they’ll throb
Their cheeks will rosy like Santa, fat bellied of profit
The night will end with some PR intern rushing a press release for the next day
In it, plans to address ‘community cohesion’

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