Jubilee Spoyals

Lazy Saturday, in the quilt I hide.

It sounds like rain outside,

But it’s the sound of wind on bunting,

The Union Jacks flap patriotism of a nation fronting.

Kidding itself that all is grand

In Britain where “Great” names the land.

A weekend for celebrating the Royals

Yet under the praise, what of the spoils.

You want me to wave a flag,

Sing joyfully and forget the bad?

Perhaps you think I should look forward

Instead of back. For me, I look towards

The damage in legacies sowed.

The ones that deny people to grow.

See it’s hypocrisy

That spoils the day for me.

Don’t think so?

Ask the people of the Chagos Archipelago.

Stand under your red, white and blue and cheer

As justice is denied to Kenyan women who feared

Rape from British soldiers represented on parade,

The same uniforms that were displayed

In a Royal wedding in Westminster Abbey.

Check Anglican military memorabilia and ask me,

No, ask Jesus, if His words of peace

Would integrate armies in Faith and belief.

This same church in God’s name, in waves

Took Africans and forced them to be slaves.

The Codrington plantation owned by the C of E

Branded black chests with the word “Society”.

The smell of burning flesh and skin.

A church not questioned for its evil sins.

And who atop it’s head… the Queen

With the money to reparate for crimes seen.

This poem is the tip of the bunting triangle.

It’s base spreads wide and is tangled

In the structures that define our world today.

The suffering and inequalities of wealth play

Out as resources are stolen still from lands…

Think of that when you listen to army bands

Pomping and pimping to the National Anthem.

A nation that lives for us, and kills “them”.