The Wednesday Poem

Child of the Raj​

Where I come from is crowded.
Labyrinthine streets writhe with humanity
and the weight of insistent heat infuses
dust motes raised by a million tramping feet.

Here, monsoon rains fall in torrents.
Inside is the swish of a slow turning fan,
and the cool sure hands of my ayah,
dark on my white skin.

I come from the exotic, the whispering sweep of sari,
the sheen of silk caught in my eyes.
My bones are a spicy compound:
the fire of chilli, the fragrance of cinnamon.

My memories are moulded by music,
from the lilt of Hindustani lullabies
to the syncopated beat of rag-time jazz,
chiming temple bells and big-band, old-time pizazz.

I am from the grace of good manners,
tinkling gin & tonics, the click of mah-jong tiles,
and a fragile rosewood cabinet, with glass panels
revealing delicate ivory carvings and fine porcelain.

I am from the bric-a-brac of an empire long gone.

Veronica Lake

* Veronica Lake is a Churchill Fellow, awarded in 2010 for the Study of Shakespeare. Her first poetry collection, Dragonfly Wing, was published in 2019 by Sunline Press. Her poems have also been published in a number of journals. She lives by the sea and has need of it every day.

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