Am I/I am – I am - me.
I was born into this ogre
I was born into this system
I was born into this big nose
I was born into this community
This solidarity, this paranoia, this system, This duty.
I could be a wog, a paki, the sightless, but I’m a yid.
Who labels? Me.
Who cradles me?
Who gave me this responsibilty?
Who extends me? Who berates me?
Who attacks me? Who empowers me?
Is it me? Just me. Possibly me? Only me?
Is this black?
Is this ever white?
Is the dull, ever bright?
Am I black?
Am I white?
Am I cake?
Am I shite?
Always walking north, the pole of absolute perfection. Transitory, fluid, never give correction.
I think I am grey. I might just be grey.
So au fait they say,
Tighten up, seal, bolten your mind.
You might see that what opens is a glorious find.
They say these things in the valleys, they say things in the streets,
In the suburbs, the synagogue, the mosque, the church,
The uni, the school, the fucking palace son.
They’re talking everywhere about how much work is to be done.
So I’m grey. I’m still-born. I am my mother, wife and child.
Positive emotions making sex love tender-mild.
I’m a trichotomy of voices, packed into one soul.
The greyest man to colour the blank,
And whiten all that coal.
I am me, foremost and proudly,
I find selflessness is selfish.
I speak English, not Urdu newspeak Italian or Yiddish.
I am me. And I love. I control. And I give.
I am grey black white oppressed, not ignorant yet free.
I am grey curious ambitious and loving and dark and bright and me.