The Words We Carry: Poetry from Change the Word Sheffield

In a planet increasingly divided and divisive, Good Chance creates pop-up Theatres of Hope and collaborates with artists from across the world to connect people, stories and cultures.

Founded by British playwrights Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson, Good Chance established its first Theatre of Hope, a geodesic dome, in the heart of the refugee and migrant camp in Calais in 2015. The dome has since risen in London, Paris, New York and Coventry to forge new communities using art. Alongside our dome theatres, the company creates groundbreaking Good Chance Productions, with the multi-award winning, five-star play The Jungle playing in London, New York and San Francisco to unprecedented critical and audience response.

Change the Word forms part of the Good Chance Ensemble, a collective of artists from across the world, many newly arrived in the UK. Through poetry, storytelling and performance, Change the Word brings people together from communities to share ideas, share stories and share spaces.

This first Change the Word project ran in partnership with Coventry City of Culture in 2019 and the members of our second Change the Word, in Sheffield, created this anthology of poems.

For more information and details of how to support Good Chance, see www.goodchance.org.uk or contact us at hello@goodchance.org.uk.

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First published 2020 by Good Chance Duke of York’s Theatre, St Martin’s Lane, Charing Cross, London WC2N 4BG in association with The Independent Publishing Network ISBN 978-1-78972-893-4 © 2020 Good Chance and its licensors. Each of the literary works in this publication is reproduced with the permission of its author.

The rights of Connie Treves and Emily Webb to be identified as the editors of this work and of Tchiyiwe Chihana, Connie Treves and Emily Webb to be identified as the authors of the introductions of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Printed and bound in the UK by Aquatint Typeset by Avon DataSet Ltd Cover design and inside illustrations by Anja Uhren

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The Words We Carry poetry from

Change the Word Sheffield

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Thank You Connie Treves and Tchiyiwe Chihana for running the Change the Word workshops with such energy, sensitivity and creativity.

Emily Webb for leading Change the Word and the whole Good Chance team for their dedication to creating welcoming, inspirational spaces for self-expression.

Rob Hastie, John Tomlinson and all the team at Sheffield Theatres for giving Change the Word its Sheffield home and for their time and support.

Anja Uhren for designing the beautiful cover of this anthology and for illustrating the poems throughout.

Melanie Curtis at Avon DataSet for giving her time in typesetting this anthology.

Thryn Louis, Kath Mardles and the team at Buzz Childcare for so generously giving their time to look after the children of Change the Word.

Arvon for hosting a dedicated Change the Word week-long writing residential in 2020.

JoĂŁo Paulo SimĂľes for creating the inspirational Change the Word poetry film.

Javid Azh for being our resident Change the Word photographer.

Bethany Wells for working with the collective to create the set for the Change the Word showcase at FreeDome Sheffield 2020.

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Aymen Mahammednor and Isobel Zimsek for typing up poems for the anthology, and all the generous volunteers who make Good Chance’s work possible.

Thanks to: Arts Council England, Clore Duffield Foundation, European Commission Representation in the UK, Karen Bastick-Styles and the staff and pupils at Greenside School, the Jewitt family and the staff and pupils at the British School in The Netherlands, Alexander and Brenda Leff, National Lottery Heritage Fund, Noël Coward Foundation, Sheffield Grammar School Exhibition Foundation and Sheffield Town Trust for supporting this project, as well as the many other individuals and organisations who have given their generous time, support and advice.

City of Sanctuary, Learn for Life, SAVTE, New Beginnings, Hive, Flourish and the many other brilliant organisations supporting refugees and asylum seekers in Sheffield for recommending members of the collective.

Most importantly, we would like to thank the members of the Change the Word Sheffield collective for sharing themselves and their poetry with us – in this book, at Good Chance’s FreeDome festival and in many other ways to come.

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Contents Foreword Emily Webb Introduction Connie Treves and Tchiyiwe Chihana

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Collective World Turning 17 Diyo Mulopo Bopengo A Father Tongue 19 Qais Aryan I Am Lost Today 20 Sabira Abdullahi Kakuma Refugee Camp 21 Huzaifah Abdullahi Flying Words 22 Javid Azh Dark to Light 23 Mazin Saad Calaisian Refugeen 24 Mustafa Noorzai Life is beautiful, make good use 27

of every moment Masoumeh Sabatiyam In My New Life 28 Andrew Jeffrey Carry One 29 Awad Abakar Believe in Ourselves 31 Qais Aryan Carry My Body 32 Diyo Mulopo Bopengo Je Suis Une Montagne 33 Cerowyn Browne I Am Hungry 35 Sabira Abdullahi My New City 36 Sarah Orola Ode to GT 38 Tom Boydell Botanical Gardens, Georgetown 40 Nazia Khan Machli Ghar 41 Michael Newman Art is Food 42 Jasem Fathi Breathe 43 Mazin Saad Land of Hope and Glory 44 Javid Azh Propranolol 46 Maddox Bryson Lonely 47 Diyo Mulopo Bopengo The Broken Trident 48 Awad Abakar When you don’t use it you will

lose it 49 Huzaifah Abdullahi Where I’m From 50

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Raqia U-Din Marriage Made Heaven 51 Yordanos Gebrehiwot Where is my home? 52 Jasem Fathi My Poem Is Home 53 Nev Wheeler People Make a City Great 54 Daisy Frossard My City is a River 56 Nighat Basharat 22 Years of Darkness 58 Raqia U-Din My Child 60 Jayne Keen Yorkshire Rose 61 Donald Keeling Sheffield, City of Steel 62 Kiriakoulla Flowering 63 Andrew Jeffrey Arborio 64 Lem Lem Injera 66 Michael Newman Sheffield 67 Nighat Basharat Teddy Bear Hug 68 Cerowyn Browne My city (or my mother’s arms) 69 Tchiyiwe Chihana Humming Sheffield Wellingtons 71 Emily Webb Twisting Words 72 Connie Treves Singing the Baba Yaga Words 74 Qais Aryan Don’t Look Me Down 76 The Change the Word Poets 77

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Foreword Emily Webb, Director of Change the Word, Good Chance

Poetry has visceral power. On the page, spoken, animated, performed with the body. It is an active force in the world. It uses the potency of the specific, the concrete, the personal, to speak to the universal. As much as our world is apparently global, it is simultaneously becoming ever more fractured and disconnected. Poetry has the power to change that – to reach out across borders and speak the common language of humanity.

Change the Word is a manifestation of this power. It brings together people from all over the world, who now live in one city, and creates a space in which they can explore who they are, where they’ve come from and their vision for the future. With a world on the move, we need more spaces like this – spaces of welcome, spaces of creativity, spaces of connection.

The poetry in this book, The Words We Carry, is full of journeys – through the world and through memory. The words people have carried into this space taste like fresh injera in the centre of the table waiting to be shared. They are laden with old Sheffield soot and washed clean by the city’s rivers. They sound like the azan calling us all to a communal prayer of friendship.

These poems are very much rooted in the city that everyone in Change the Word now calls home. Life may sometimes be ‘hard like Sheffield steel’ but Sheffield is also ‘a place for all people’. It was the UK’s first ever City of Sanctuary, so it feels fitting that Change the Word is here, forming part of the tapestry of migration and welcome that has characterised the city through its history. We are grateful to Sheffield Theatres for welcoming

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Change the Word to its home in the big glass box on top of the Crucible Theatre, where we can look out over the lights of Tudor Square and let them fire up our imaginations.

Having first run Change the Word in Coventry with the City of Culture in 2019, and in Sheffield in 2020, we plan to form more Change the Word collectives in other towns and cities across the UK. Each will have their own distinct identity but each will form part of a whole. That whole is a collective of artists from around the world – the Good Chance Ensemble – who are making beautiful, necessary provocative art in these uncertain times.

The 30 poets who together have created this collection started their lives in 13 different countries: Afghanistan, Democratic Republic of Congo, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Greece, Iran, Ireland, Kenya, Pakistan, Sudan, UK, Zambia and Yemen. They have carried their words across the globe. They have picked up new ones on their travels. They have lost some along the way. And here, they have turned these words into poems that are unique to each poet but speak of universal things – of gratitude, of anger, of community, of hope. I hope these words will be carried out into the world, leave the pages of this book and assume lives of their own. For the power of poetry lies with the reader as well as the poet.

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Introduction Connie Treves and Tchiyiwe Chihana, Change the Word artists-in-residence

It is our last session before poems for this book are due. Printed pieces of paper are piled up across the room. In the corner two people walk up and down, paper in hand, moving their mouths around a sound in Farsi, then in English. A pair are sitting; the younger writes while the older speaks, eyes scrunched, hands moving lightly around her words. We start to lay out food on the table and backs begin to straighten. Phones are checked – the workshop is coming to a close. Faces rise, arms relax, the air hums with anticipation. Someone stands and starts to read. She pauses takes a breath and sings a line from an Urdu nursery rhyme. The sound drifts for a second and then lands. A man nods in recognition, a woman lifts her finger and smiles. Even for those of us who don’t speak Urdu, we can feel it – that wrappedup-tight glow of childhood on our skin.

Now, sitting down to write this introduction away from the other poets who make up this anthology feels bizarre. There is no clamour of voices, no biscuits strewn across our big pop-up tables, no sea of neighbouring ears ready to lean in, listen and gently push our words along. Just the two of us – and it feels a little too quiet.

For it was in one room, side by side, that the poems in this anthology were written. Outside were libraries and museums across the square, the drop-in for asylum seekers in the Methodist Church round the corner. And there was something extraordinary about that space. Perhaps it was the unusual span of ages – 15 to 84 – or the many journeys we had taken to arrive there. But, more than that, it was a place to slow down, pause, and reflect, 11

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together. Through our words, the walls of the room could stretch and bend. We felt the glow of golden, sandy deserts; we dipped our toes in rivers from the Pennine Hills to Kenya. We stood tall with Sheffield steel in our backbones and let music from Afghanistan and the Congo dance in our limbs. We turned ourselves inside out and shared parts of our secret selves, sitting quietly to cup others’ stories gently in our palms. We told jokes, hugged, laughed.

Poetry in England can sometimes be thought of as belonging to young scholars bearing huge dictionaries or fusty old men reciting verses from leather chairs. Poetry does not have to be this. It doesn’t have to be language at its most grammatical and mastered. Rather, it thrives off collision – words at their most imaginative, opposite and unruly. Our group had this in armfuls – here, all the languages of this city (English, Dari, Arabic, Farsi, French and many more) were allowed to exist together, respond to each other, play freely. Reading to each other in circles or sharing scribbled lists, we tried to embrace language at its most raw, our words shape-shifting amongst us. Hopefully, you can feel this process threaded throughout the collection.

One day, we arrived to find a member of the group’s son, Huzaifah, aged 7, propped up at the table, pen firmly in hand, having decided that he too had something to say, something to write. His poems are remarkable – vividly laying out the transition between one language and another. Surely, this proves that poetry can be for everyone, of any age, if we make room to believe in it.

Today, we must fight for spaces to believe in the arts. Sheffield is an artwork with many stories to be told, and this anthology contains some of them. Books can travel close to us – in a jacket pocket, or the bottom of a bag. Roam around and make journeys of their own. The title of this anthology is taken from Wang Ping’s poem ‘Things We Carry on the Sea’. Having travelled away from the landscapes of her past, Ping packs her life into a

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poem. She suggests that for a world in transit, it is through words that we can keep close all the real and imagined parts of our lives. Her poem is deeply personal, and yet it is also shared, plural – the words we carry. It inspired many of the pieces in this collection of poems now being carried together side-by-side, to journey out into the world together – demanding to be read as one.

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World Turning The world is on fire.

A wave of unknown moving through the planet.

Faces blended together.

Curried earth, hot, dry.

I came from swimming back naked.

I came from hidden shadows of myself.

Wandering through rust I reach somewhere with walls and doors, shade and trees. I am safe.

How I love to walk on the warm sand with arms around my loved one. In this place I can see my mother, a bright sunbeam.

I come from light.

When it is bright you have a vision.

You see far. The world is big.

I cannot go back to the spot where I slid down in joy.

But my poem melts and slithers down the throat.

My poem is like being hugged, held close. Loved.

I see innocence with a sweet smell.

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The taste is sweet, the outside sharp like a needle.

My poem is fresh heavenly herbs, like home, my mom’s presence. Sound of the fields of my land.

I am made of the fabric of my ancestors.

I breathe the strength of a nation.

I come from earth, roots, leaves and sky.

I have a frosty hope to recover.

Having crispy memories needs safe thoughts.

But in the moment of dark time of death and life, check, border check, check, border check, you have been beside me.

Hope is looking to heights like the peak of a mountain.

Don’t look me down.

The world on fire.

A wave of unknown, complete and turn bright.

The next morning it is shining.

By the Change the Word Sheffield Collective

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A Father Tongue In the loss of language My words shut like a clap in thin air I remember the alphabet going up from down Where J and G find common pronunciation From one language to the other My word in Lingala feels like a Moving feather scrawling up my shin Lost in translation, was I that young And grown to learn so many languages?

Bolingo, love, lief, amour, lerato, ma-pendo All gives the chill down my spine As this word comes out my mouth How do I pronounce kwes-chun or kes-tee-on Ho! Ho! it’s the French Haunting my mind Both words are spelt the same But sound different I remember how I learnt to read Double U or doubler V If I stand to be corrected This must be double vie What is lost in translation?

Diyo Mulopo Bopengo

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I Am Lost Today Today I am lost at home.

I am thinking of my past and the future I have never seen.

Today I am lost at home.

I may be sitting beside you but my brain is running wildly into the unknown.

My soul flies in the blue sky.

My heart sinks deep into the ocean.

Today I am lost at home.

They say there is only one world, one planet, one earth, one home.

But black occupies part of the earth, white has taken the other part, yellow claims another piece.

Colour should be colourless.

I don’t know where I should stand.

Have you ever been lost at home?

Believe me, today I am lost at home.

Qais Aryan

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Kakuma Refugee Camp In the refugee camp it is too warm No green, no flowers, not enough water In Kenya I miss the rivers of my country The Awash, the Waabee, the Weeb Rivers give me oxygen I miss the fresh fruit of my country Oranges, guavas, sugar cane The fruit we get is from another city and it is too dry I miss the animals of my country Loon, farda fi hoolaa I cannot go to the countryside We have to stay in the refugee camp I miss lots of things, but Kenya saves me

Sabira Abdullahi

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Flying Words I like talking in different languages It is fun because I make new friends – Oromo. Swahili. English. Arabic.

When I was a baby my mum taught me Oromo It was like the words flew into my head.

When I was 7 I forgot my Swahili It was like the words flew to the sun and got burned.

Huzaifah Abdullahi Aged 7

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Dark to Light I carry the silence and dark eyes I carry trauma of past hunting me like the shadow of nightmares I carry dreams of dirty hands covering my face Shame of my past Losing my religion I carry my moments like dry bent wood Could snap at any moment Don’t touch it I carry now my beloved son like fragile crystal We carry now good intention and politeness in the sea of people

Javid Azh

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Calaisian Refugeen

een alaisian refugeen A een rap

rap

Mazin een Saad Calaisian I like refugeen to make discussions about our situation scussions about our situation A rapWe Calaisian refugeen ugeen like to make discussions about our We crossed thesituation Mediterranean sea Mediterranean sea We Calaisian refugeen scussions about our situation and Atlantic ocean Mazin Saad an We crossed the Mediterranean sea ugeen until we arrived to this continent to this continent nd Atlantic ocean Mediterranean sea benvenuti ai rifugiati in Italia scussions about our situation I to like to make discussions about our situation giatiweinarrived Italia ntil this continent an ugeen we moverefugeen to the country of Marie Antoinette about our situation We Calaisian country ofaiMarie Antoinette envenuti rifugiati in Italia to this continent Mediterranean sea We crossed the sea ‫ﻮاﻏﯿ‬Mediterranean ‫ﻟﻄ‬Antoinette ‫ﻲ ﻣﻦ ظﻠﻢ وﻗﺪر ا‬ ‫ﻗﺎﻋﺪﯾﻦ ﻓﻲ اﻟﻨﻘﻞ زي اﻟﻮطﺎوﯾﻂ ﻟﻜﻦ ﻣﺎ ﺑﺘﻄﺎطﻲ راﺳ‬ e move to the country of ‫ﺖ‬ Marie giati in Italia an nean sea and Atlantic ocean ecountry Jungleof like bats) ‫ﺖ‬ ‫ﯿ‬ ‫ﻏ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﻄ‬ ‫ﻗﺎﻋﺪﯾﻦ ﻓﻲ اﻟﻨﻘﻞ زي اﻟﻮطﺎوﯾﻂ ﻟﻜﻦ ﻣﺎ ﺑﺘﻄﺎطﻲ راﺳﻲ ﻣﻦ ظﻠﻢ وﻗﺪر اﻟ‬ Marie Antoinette (wearrived stayedto in thecontinent Jungle like bats) o this continent ‫ھﻨﺎ‬until ‫ و‬Jungle ‫ ھﻨﺎ‬we ‫ﺷﺎﯾﻒ‬like ‫ﻏﺗﯿﺎﻣﺖﮫ‬bats) ‫ﺳاﻟﯿﻄﻮﺮاة‬this ‫ﻊ‬ ‫ﺿ‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ﻠ‬ ‫ﻋ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺗ‬ ‫ﺮ‬ ‫ﻄ‬ ‫ي اﺤﻟﻜﻮﺎمطﺎﻻوﻧﯾﻲ‬ ‫ﻗﻣﺎﺮﻋﺪتﯾ اﻦﻻﻓﯾﺎﻲم اﻟوﻨﻗﻘﺪﻞروز اﻟ‬ we stayed in‫ك‬the ‫ﻂ ﻟﻋﻜﺎﯾﻦﺶﻣﺎﺑﺑﺘﻲﻄﻧﺎﻈطﺎمﻲﺳرﯿاﺳﻲ ﻣﻦ ظﻠﻢ وﻗﺪر‬ giati in Italia ntinent benvenuti ai‫ك‬rifugiati up the dictatorship ‫ﻨﺎ‬but ‫ﻨﺎ وھ‬I‫ھ‬control ‫ﻒ‬in ‫ﺷﺎﯾ‬Italia ‫ﻣﮫ‬all ‫ﺮة ﺗﺎ‬situations ‫ﻣﺮت اﻻﯾﺎم وﻗﺪرو اﻟﺤﻜﺎم ﻻﻧﻲ ﻋﺎﯾﺶ ﺑﻲ ﻧﻈﺎم ﺳﯿﻄﺮﺗﺎ ﻋﻠﻲ اﻟﻮﺿﻊ ﺳﯿﻄ‬ ee Jungle like bats) system ountry ofinMarie alia weAntoinette move to the country of Marie IAntoinette ow I live peace will never the‫ﺷﺎﯾ‬dictatorship system ‫ك‬give ‫ وھﻨﺎ‬up ‫ﻒ ھﻨﺎ‬ ‫ﺿﻊ ﺳﯿﻄﺮة ﺗﺎﻣﮫ‬ ‫ﻋﻠﻲ اﻟﻮ‬but ‫ﯿﻄﺮﺗﺎ‬control ‫ﻲ ﻧﻈﺎم ﺳ‬all ‫ﺶ ﺑ‬situations ‫ﻣﺮت اﻻﯾﺎم وﻗﺪرو اﻟﺤﻜﺎم ﻻﻧﻲ ﻋﺎﯾ‬ ‫ﺖ‬ ‫ﯿ‬ ‫ﻏ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﻄ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ﺪ‬ ‫ﻗ‬ ‫و‬ ‫ﻢ‬ ‫ﻂ ﻟﻄﻜﻮاﻦﻏﯿﻣﺎﺖﺑﺘﻄﺎطﻲ راﺳﻲ ﻣﻦ ظﻠ‬ ‫ﻲ ﻓراﻲﺳاﻟﻨ‬ ‫ﻞ زي اﻟﻮطﺎوﯾﻂ ﻟﻜﻦ ﻣﺎ ﺑﺘﻗﺎﻄﺎﻋﺪطﯾﻦ‬ fut Marie Antoinette ‫يﻠ اﻢﻟﻮوﻗطﺪﺎروﯾ اﻟ‬ ‫ﻲﻘ ﻣﻞﻦزظ‬ and there thethe Jungle now I live in peace ehere up dictatorship system but I control all situations (I will never give up the dictatorship system but I ‫ﻦ‬control all Jungle like bats) ‫ﺖ‬ ‫ﯿ‬ ‫ﻏ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﻄ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ﺪ‬ ‫ﻗ‬ ‫و‬ ‫ﻢ‬ ‫ﻠ‬ ‫ظ‬ ‫ﻦ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ﺳ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ط‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻄ‬ ‫ﺘ‬ ‫ﺑ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ﻦ‬ ‫ﻜ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ﻂ‬ ‫ﯾ‬ ‫و‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ط‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ز‬ ‫ﻞ‬ ‫ﻘ‬ ‫ﻨ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ﻓ‬ ‫ﯾ‬ ‫ﺪ‬ ‫ﻋ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻗ‬ (we stayed in the Jungle like bats) ecan inIsee peace) here and there ow livepeople in peace ‫ﺎﻣﻌوﻠھﻮﻨﻣﺎ‬in ‫وﻻھﻨ‬peace) ‫ﻓﺷﺎﺮﯾةﻒ‬situations ‫ﻚوﺮاﻟﺗھﺎﺪﻨﯾﺎﻋﺴكﻠﻲ‬ ‫ﻒﻧﺎﺳدھﯿﯾﻨﺎﻄ‬ ‫ﻈﺎنم‬ ‫ﻲاﺎﻟالﻟﺤﻮاﻜﺎﺳم‬ ike ‫ﺶﺎﻲﻣﺑﮫﻲﻋ ﻧﺷﺸﺎﺎﯾ‬ ‫ﺿﻜﻊﻻﻦﻧ ﺑﺳﻲﯿﻲﻄﻋﺎﺣﺮﯾﺪةاﻧﺗ‬ ‫تمااﻟﻨﻻﺳﺎﯾﯿﺎمﻄ‬ ‫سﺎ‬ ‫ﺪرو اﻟﺤﻜﺎم ﻻﻧﻲ ﻋﺎﯾﺶ ﺑ اﻲﻟﻣﻨﺎﻧﺮﻈ‬ ‫س‬ ‫اﻟﻨﺎ‬bats) ‫ﺪه‬and ‫ﺸﺎ ﻛ‬all ‫ﺔكﻋ‬live ‫ﺲ ااﻟوﻮلﺿﺷﻊﻲﺳﯿﻻﻄﺟﺮﻮةﻣﺗﮫﺎﻣﻣﮫﺘﻮ‬ ‫سﺮوﺗﻷﻗﺎﺪﻣﮫرﻋﻠﺗوﻌ‬ ere they here there e up the system but I control all situations ‫ﺖﻨﺎك‬ ‫وﺎﻗﻌوھ‬dictatorship ‫ﻒأةھﻨ‬ ‫ﯾ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺷ‬ ‫ﮫ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺗ‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ﺮ‬ ‫ﻄ‬ ‫ﯿ‬ ‫ﺳ‬ ‫ﻊ‬ ‫ﺿ‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ﻠ‬ ‫ﻋ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺗ‬ ‫ﺮ‬ ‫ﻄ‬ ‫ﯿ‬ ‫ﺳ‬ ‫م‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻈ‬ ‫ﻧ‬ ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ﺑ‬ ‫ﺶ‬ ‫ﯾ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻋ‬ ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ﻧ‬ ‫ﻻ‬ ‫م‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻜ‬ ‫ﺤ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫و‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ﺪ‬ ‫ﻗ‬ ‫و‬ ‫م‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﯾ‬ ‫ﻻ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ﺮ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ (I will never give up the dictatorship system but I control all situations but the Jungle now I live in peace e in peace)‫اﻟﻨﺎس اﻟﻨﺎس ﻷﻣﮫ ﺗﻌﺎواﻟلﺮااﺳﻛﺒﻜﻮﻦﺑﮫﺑﻲ ﺣﺪاﻧﻲ ﻋﺸﺎن ﻧﺎدﯾﻚ اﻟﺪﯾﺴﺲ اول ﺷﻲ ﻻﺟﻮﻣﮫ ﻣﺘﻮﻓﺮة وﻻ ﻣﻌﻠﻮﻣﺔ ﻋﺸﺎ ﻛﺪه اﻟﻨﺎس اﻟﻤﺮ‬ w I live in peace dictatorship system but I control allI live situations but the Jungle nowour in peacethere idea about ‫واﻟﺮاﻛﺒﻮﺑﮫ‬ ‫س‬o‫ﻨﺎ‬us ‫ﺪه اﻟ‬to‫ﺎ ﻛ‬have ‫ﻣﺔ ﻋﺸ‬a‫ﻠﻮ‬better ‫وﻻ ﻣﻌ‬I ‫ة‬can ‫ﻣﺘﻮﻓﺮ‬see ‫ﻮﻣﮫ‬people ‫ ﺷﻲ ﻻﺟ‬lives) ‫ل‬here ‫ﺴﺲ او‬and ‫اﻟﻨﺎس اﻟﻨﺎس ﻷﻣﮫ ﺗﻌﺎل اﺳﻜﻦ ﺑﻲ ﺣﺪاﻧﻲ ﻋﺸﺎن ﻧﺎدﯾﻚ اﻟﺪﯾ‬ here and there in peace I can see people here and they all live inthere peace)our lives) ome live next to usthere to have a better idea about ‫واﻟﺮاﻛﺒﻮﺑﮫ‬ emy in peace) there they all live in peace) there o usfeet to have a better idea about our lives) ‫س‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫اﻟﻨ‬week ‫ﻋﺸﺎ ﻛﺪه‬Iseek ‫ﻌﻠﻮﻣﺔ‬my ‫وﻻ ﻣ‬feet ‫ﻲﺎ ﻻ‬ ‫ﻻﺟﺣﻮﺪاﻣﻧﮫﻲﻣﺘﻋﻮﻓﺸﺎﺮةن ﻧوﺎد‬ ‫ﺲﺎ الوالﺳﻜﺷﻦﻲﺑﻲ‬ ‫ﻚ اﻟﻷﺪﻣﯾﮫﺴﺗﻌ‬ ‫ﻷﻣﮫ ﺗﻌﺎل اﺳﻜﻦ ﺑﻲ ﺣﺪاﻧﻲ اﻟﻋﻨﺎﺸﺎسن اﻧﻟﺎﻨﺎدﯾس‬ e) ‫سﺟاﻟﻮﻤﻣﮫﺮأةﻣﺘوﻮﻗﻓﻌﺮةﺖ‬ ‫ﺲﺸاﺎوﻛلﺪهﺷاﻟﻨ‬ ‫ﻻﯾ ﻣﻚﻌﻠاﻟﻮﺪﯾﻣﺔﺴ ﻋ‬ r asylum ast lost ‫واﻟﺮاﻛﺒﻮﺑﮫ‬ ‫ﻋ‬ ‫ﺔ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﻠ‬ ‫ﻌ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ﻻ‬ ‫و‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ﺮ‬ ‫ﻓ‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﺘ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ﮫ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﺟ‬ ‫ﻻ‬ ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ﺷ‬ ‫ل‬ ‫و‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ﺲ‬ ‫ﺴ‬ ‫ﯾ‬ ‫ﺪ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ﻚ‬ ‫ﯾ‬ ‫د‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻧ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺸ‬ ‫ﻋ‬ ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ﻧ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ﺪ‬ ‫ﺣ‬ ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ﺑ‬ ‫ﻦ‬ ‫ﻜ‬ ‫ﺳ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻌ‬ ‫ﺗ‬ ‫ﮫ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ﻷ‬ ‫س‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻨ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫س‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻨ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ smy notfeet Afriquefor or asylum Mozambique hen looking seek o us to have a better idea about our lives) ‫ﮫ‬ ‫ﺑ‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﺒ‬ ‫ﻛ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ﺮ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫و‬ (come live next to us to have a better idea about our lives) live to us to fe no thing to eat no(come blanket to cover your feethave a better idea about our lives) elieve meseek this is not Afrique or next Mozambique r asylum a better idea about ourtolives) oave no giraffe no thing eat no blanket to cover your feet s tiger not Afrique or Mozambique my feet Last week I lost my feet form 5 I arrive fe no thing to eat noLast blanket toIcover your feet week lost my feet re’sasylum seek when looking for asylum seek to14:45 Stonehenge to platform 5 I arrive when looking asylumorseek not Afrique or Mozambique seek believe me this is notforAfrique Mozambique Life osform wired close to Stonehenge 5 Ibearrive believe me this is notto Afrique or Mozambique e no thing to eat no blanket to cover your feet ique or Mozambique no tiger no giraffe no thing eat blanket to cover your feet still exist and survive Stone Life no tiger no giraffe no thing no end tolive Stonehenge to eat no blanket to cover your feet g to eat no blanket to cover your feet wonder how I still exist and survive Life form 5 I arriveIt’s 14:45 to platform 5 I arrive still exist and survive earrive to this Stonehenge sofirst wired be close to of rap was performed

by Stonehenge Mazin in the Good Chance Theatre Dome in the ife ehenge And live Stone Life 015 n early version of this rap was first performed by Mazin in the Good Chance Theatre Dome in the till exist and survive I wonder how I still exist and survive alais Jungle, 2015 of this rap was first performed by Mazin in the Good Chance Theatre Dome in the and survive 015 24

of this rap was performed bythis Mazin thefirst Good Chance Theatre the Chance Theatre Dom Anfirst early version of rapin was performed

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by Mazin in the Good Chance Theatre Dome in the Calais Jungle, 2015

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the words we carry

It’s 14:45 to platform 5 I arrive so wired be close to Stonehenge And live Stone Life I wonder how I still exist and survive

Mazin Saad An early version of this rap was first performed by Mazin in the Good Chance Theatre Dome in the Calais Jungle, 2015

25

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‫‪change the word‬‬

‫زﻧﺪه ﮔﯽ زﯾﺒﺎ اﺳﺖ از ھﺮ ﻟﺤﻈﮫ اش ﺧﻮب اﺳﺘﻔﺎده ﮐﻨﯿﺪ‬

‫ش ﺧھﻮﺮب اﻟﺳﺤﺘﻔﺎﻈدهﮫ ﮐﻨاﯿﺪش ﺧﻮب اﺳﺘﻔﺎده ﮐﻨﯿﺪ‬ ‫زﻧﺪهزﻧﮔﺪﯽهزﯾﺒﮔﺎ اﯽﺳﺖزﯾاﺒزﺎھاﺮ ﻟﺳﺤﻈﺖﮫ ااز‬

‫ﻣﺼﻄﻔﯽ ﻧﻮرزی‬ ‫ﻣﺼﻄﻔﯽ ﻧﻮرزی‬ ‫ﺷﯿﺪ آواز ﭘﺮﻧﺪﮔﺎن ﺑﮫ ﻣﺎ ﻧﻮﯾﺪ رﺳﯿﺪن ﯾﮏ روز دﯾﮕﺮ را ﻣﯿﺪھﻨﺪ‪.‬‬ ‫ﺻﺒﻣﺢ ھﻨ‬ ‫ﺼﮕﺎﻄمﻔﺑﺎﯽطﻠﻧﻮﻮعرﺧزﻮری‬ ‫ﺻﺒﺢ ھﻨﮕﺎم ﺑﺎ طﻠﻮع ﺧﻮرﺷﯿﺪ آواز ﭘﺮﻧﺪﮔﺎن ﺑﮫ ﻣﺎ ﻧﻮﯾﺪ رﺳﯿﺪن ﯾﮏ روز دﯾﮕﺮ را ﻣﯿﺪھﻨﺪ‪.‬‬ ‫ﯾﮏ روز دﯾﮕﺮ را ﻣﯿﺪھﻨﺪ‪.‬‬ ‫ﮔﺮﭼﮫ اﮐﻨﻮن ﻓﺼﻞ زﻣﺴﺘﺎن ﻓﺮا رﺳﯿﺪه اﺳﺖ ‪،‬اﻣﺎ ﮔﺮﻣﯽ ﺧﺎﺻﯽ اﯾﺠﺎد ﮐﺮده اﺳﺖ‪،‬‬ ‫ﮏ روز دﯾﮕﺮ را ﻣﯿﺪھﻨﺪ‪.‬‬ ‫ﺧ اﻮﺳرﺖ ‪،‬‬ ‫عﺳﯿﺪه‬ ‫ﻮر‬ ‫طﻓﻠﺮا‬ ‫ﮕﻞﺎمزﻣﺑﺴﺎﺘﺎن‬ ‫ﺻاﺒﮐﻨﺢﻮنھﻓﻨﺼ‬ ‫ﮔﺮﭼﮫ‬ ‫ﺷاﯿﻣﺎﺪ ﮔآﺮوﻣاﯽزﺧﺎﭘﺻﺮﻧﯽﺪاﯾﮔﺠﺎﺎدنﮐ ﺑﺮدﮫه اﻣﺳﺎﺖ‪،‬ﻧﻮﯾﺪ رﺳﯿﺪن ﯾﮏ روز‬ ‫ﯽ اﯾﺠﺎد ﮐﺮده اﺳﺖ‪،‬‬ ‫در ﺷﮭﺮ ﻣﻦ ﻣﺮدم از ﮐﺸﻮرھﺎ و ﻓﺮھﻨﮕﮭﺎی ﻣﺨﺘﻠﻒ ‪،‬اﻣﺎ ﺑﺴﯿﺎر دوﺳﺘﺎﻧﮫ و ﺑﺎ ﻣﺤﺒﺖ در ﮐﻨﺎر ﯾﮑﺪﯾﮕﺮ زﻧﺪﮔﯽ ﻣﯿﮑﻨﻨ‬ ‫اﯾﺠﺎد ﮐﺮده اﺳﺖ‪،‬‬ ‫دوﺳﺘﺎﻧﮫ و ﺑﺎ ﻣﺤﺒﺖ در دﮐﻨرﺎرﺷﯾﮭﮑﺮﺪﯾﻣﮕﻦﺮﻣزﺮﻧدﺪمﮔ اﯽز ﻣﮐﯿﺸﮑﻨﻮﻨﺪر‪.‬ھﺎ و ﻓﺮھﻨﮕﮭﺎی ﻣﺨﺘﻠﻒ ‪،‬اﻣﺎ ﺑﺴﯿﺎر دوﺳﺘﺎﻧﮫ و ﺑﺎ ﻣﺤﺒﺖ در ﮐﻨﺎر ﯾﮑﺪﯾﮕﺮ زﻧﺪﮔﯽ ﻣﯿﮑﻨﻨ‬ ‫ﺳﺖ‪.‬‬ ‫ﺳ ﻧﯿﻤﺪﺎﻧهﺪها اﺳ‬ ‫رﻮد‬ ‫ﺮﻧاﮫ ﺧ‬ ‫ﺴﺴﺘﺎﯽندرﻓﺧﺎ‬ ‫ﯽﮐ‬ ‫ﻮی اﺣﺴﺎ‬ ‫وﻗﺘﮔﯽ ﺑﮫ ﺷﮭﺮ ﻣﯿﺮو‬ ‫ﺖ ‪،‬اﻣﺎ ﮔﺮﻣﯽ ﺧﺎﺻﯽ اﯾﺠﺎد ﮐﺮ‬ ‫ﺼسﻞﻣﯿﮑزﻨﻣ‬ ‫نﯿﮑﻓﻨﻨﺪ‪.‬‬ ‫ﺮﺪﯾﭼﮕﮫﺮ ازﻧﮐﺪﻨﮔﯽ ﻣ‬ ‫دوﺳﺘﺎﻧﮫ و ﺑﺎ ﻣﺤﺒﺖ در ﮐﻨﺎر ﯾﮑ‬ ‫وﻗﺘﯽ ﺑﮫ ﺷﮭﺮ ﻣﯿﺮوی اﺣﺴﺎس ﻣﯿﮑﻨﯽ ﮐﺴﯽ در ﺧﺎﻧﮫ ﺧﻮد ﻧﻤﺎﻧﺪه اﺳﺖ‪.‬‬ ‫ه اﺳﺖ‪.‬‬ ‫ﺑﺎران زﯾﺎد ﻣﯿﺒﺎرد و وﻗﺘﯽ ﻣﯿﺒﺎرد اﻣﯿﺪوارم ﻏﺒﺎر دﻟﮭﺎ را ﺑﺎ ﺧﻮد ﺑﺸﻮﯾﺪ و ﺑﻮی ﻧﻢ ﺑﺎراﻧﯽ ﮐﮫ ﻣﯿﻤﺎﻧﺪ ﺑﮫ دﻟﮭﺎﯾﻤﺎن ﺻ‬ ‫اﺳﺖ‪.‬‬ ‫ﺻ‬ ‫ﺨﺘیﻠ ﻧﻢ ﺑ‬ ‫یﺪ وﻣ ﺑﻮ‬ ‫ﮕ ﺑﮭﺎﺸﻮﯾ‬ ‫ﺧﻮد‬ ‫ﻣﯽ‬ ‫ﻦونﻗﺘ‬ ‫ﺷد ﺑﮭﻣﮫﯿﺒ‬ ‫ﺮﺎدﻟرﮭدﺎﻣﯾﻤوﺎ‬ ‫رﻤزﺎﯾﻧﺎﺪ‬ ‫د ﺑﺸﻮﯾﺪ و ﺑﻮی ﻧﻢ ﺑﺎراﻧﯽﺑﺎﮐرﮫادنﻣﯿ‬ ‫ﻒﺎر‪،‬اﻧاﯽﻣﺎﮐﮫﺑ ﻣﯿﺴﻤﯿﺎﺎﻧﺪرﺑﮫددﻟوﮭﺎﯾﺳﻤﺘﺎﺎنﻧﮫ‬ ‫ﺻﺮﻔﺎﻣدﯿﺑﺒمﺎﺨراﺸدﺪا‪.‬زﻣﯿﺪﮐواﺸرمﻮ ﻏرﺒﺎھرﺎ دﻟﮭوﺎ ﻓراﺮﺑﺎھﻨ‬

‫ﺑﺸﻮﯾﺪ و ﺑﻮی ﻧﻢ ﺑﺎراﻧﯽ ﮐزﮫﻧﻣﺪﯿهﻤﺎﻧﮔﺪﯽﺑﮫزدﯾﻟﺒﮭﺎﺎﯾاﻤﺎﺳنﺖﺻاﻔﺎزﺑﺨھﺸﺮﺪ‪.‬ﻟﺤﻈﮫ اش ﺧﻮب اﺳﺘﻔﺎده ﮐﻨﯿﺪ‬

‫وﻗﺘﯽ ﺑﮫ ﺷﮭﺮ ﻣﯿﺮوی اﺣﺴﺎس ﻣﯿﮑﻨﯽ ﮐﺴﯽ در ﺧﺎﻧﮫ ﺧﻮد ﻧﻤﺎﻧﺪه اﺳﺖ‪.‬‬

‫‪ul, make good use of every moment‬‬ ‫‪Commented‬‬ ‫ﻣﺼﻄﻔﯽ ﻧﻮرزی‬ ‫‪above, so sho‬‬ ‫‪ul, make good use of every moment‬‬ ‫‪Commented‬‬ ‫‪Life is beautiful, make good use of every moment‬‬ ‫– )?‪opposite‬‬ ‫‪zai‬‬ ‫‪above, so sho‬‬ ‫‪textually,‬‬ ‫ﮏﺎ رروازﺑﺎدﯾﮕﺧﺮﻮدراﺑﻣﯿﺸﺪﻮھﯾﻨﺪﺪ‪ai.‬و‬ ‫‪Life‬ﭘﯿﺮﺒﻧﺎﺪرﮔﺎدنا ﺑﻣﮫﯿﺪﻣﺎواﻧﻮرﯾمﺪ رﻏﺒﺳﯿﺎﺪرن ﯾدﻟﮭ‬ ‫ﯽزﻣ‬ ‫ﺻﺒﺎ‬ ‫)?‪ of everyopposite‬ﺑ‬ ‫–‪momentlet‬‬ ‫‪beautiful,‬وﺪﻗ‪is‬ﺘآوا‬ ‫‪make‬ﻣﻠﯿﻮﺒﺎعرﺧدﻮروﺷﯿ‬ ‫‪good‬ﺎزمﯾ ﺑﺎﺎد ط‬ ‫نﮕ‬ ‫راھﻨ‬ ‫‪use‬ﺢ‬ ‫‪Mustafa Noorzai‬‬ ‫‪textually, let‬‬ ‫‪ds sing to us one day.‬‬ ‫‪Mustafa‬‬ ‫‪Noorzai‬‬ ‫‪tedsing‬‬ ‫‪a special‬‬ ‫‪ds‬‬ ‫‪to ،us‬‬ ‫‪one‬‬ ‫‪warmth.‬ﺳﺖ‬ ‫‪day.‬ده ا‬ ‫‪At‬ه اﺳﺖ ‪،‬اﻣﺎ ﮔﺮﻣﯽ ﺧﺎﺻﯽ اﯾﺠﺎد ﮐﺮ‬ ‫‪dawn‬ﺳﯿﺪ‬ ‫‪ the‬ﻓﺮا ر‬ ‫ﺴﺘﺎن‬ ‫‪sing‬ﻞ زﻣ‬ ‫‪ to‬ﻓﺼ‬ ‫‪one‬اﮐﻨ‪us‬ﻮن‬ ‫‪day.‬ﺮﭼﮫ‬ ‫ﮔ‬ ‫‪birds‬‬ ‫‪ted a special warmth.‬‬ ‫‪Winter‬‬ ‫‪has‬‬ ‫‪created‬‬ ‫‪a‬‬ ‫‪special‬‬ ‫‪warmth.‬‬ ‫‪At dawn the birds sing to us one day.‬‬ ‫‪ple from different countries and cultures‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻨ‬ ‫ﮐ‬ ‫ر‬ ‫د‬ ‫ﺖ‬ ‫ﺒ‬ ‫ﺤ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺑ‬ ‫و‬ ‫ﮫ‬ ‫ﻧ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺘ‬ ‫ﺳ‬ ‫و‬ ‫د‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﯿ‬ ‫ﺴ‬ ‫ﺑ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫‪،‬‬ ‫ﻒ‬ ‫ﻠ‬ ‫ﺘ‬ ‫ﺨ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ی‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﮭ‬ ‫ﮕ‬ ‫ﻨ‬ ‫ھ‬ ‫‪has‬ھﺎ و ﻓﺮ‬ ‫‪created‬ﺸﻮر‬ ‫‪special‬ﺮ‪a‬دم از ﮐ‬ ‫‪warmth.‬ﮭﺮ ﻣﻦ ﻣ‬ ‫در ﺷ‬ ‫‪Winter‬‬ ‫‪loving,‬‬ ‫‪together.‬‬ ‫‪ple‬‬ ‫‪from living‬‬ ‫‪different‬‬ ‫‪countries and cultures‬‬ ‫‪In my city, people from different countries and culture‬‬ ‫‪loving, living together.‬‬ ‫‪are‬‬ ‫‪friendly‬‬ ‫‪and‬‬ ‫‪loving, living‬‬ ‫‪together.‬‬ ‫‪my‬ﮑﻨ‪In‬‬ ‫‪people‬‬ ‫‪culture‬‬ ‫‪oment‬‬ ‫‪the city you feel‬‬ ‫ﯽ ﮐﺴﯽ در ﺧﺎﻧﮫ ﺧﻮد ﻧﻤﺎﻧﺪه اﺳﺖ‪.‬‬ ‫‪ city,‬ﻣﯿ‬ ‫ﺣﺴﺎس‬ ‫‪from‬ﺮوی ا‬ ‫‪different‬ﮭﺮ ﻣﯿ‬ ‫‪countries andComm‬وﻗﺘﯽ ﺑﮫ ﺷ‬ ‫‪are‬‬ ‫‪friendly‬‬ ‫‪and‬‬ ‫‪loving,‬‬ ‫‪living‬‬ ‫‪together.‬‬ ‫‪ftthe‬‬ ‫‪at city‬‬ ‫‪home.‬‬ ‫‪you feel‬‬ ‫‪When you go to the city you feel‬‬ ‫‪above,‬‬ ‫ﯽ‪at‬ﮐﮫ‪ft‬‬ ‫‪home.‬‬ ‫‪like‬‬ ‫‪no‬‬ ‫‪one‬‬ ‫‪is‬‬ ‫‪left‬‬ ‫‪home.‬رد‪at‬‬ ‫ﻧ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺑ‬ ‫ﻢ‬ ‫ﻧ‬ ‫ی‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﺑ‬ ‫و‬ ‫ﺪ‬ ‫ﯾ‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﺸ‬ ‫ﺑ‬ ‫د‬ ‫ﻮ‬ ‫ﺧ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺑ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﮭ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫د‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺒ‬ ‫ﻏ‬ ‫م‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ا‬ ‫و‬ ‫ﺪ‬ ‫ﯿ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫د‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺒ‬ ‫ﯿ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ﯽ‬ ‫ﺘ‬ ‫ﻗ‬ ‫و‬ ‫و‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺒ‬ ‫ﯿ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫د‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﯾ‬ ‫ز‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ﺑ‬ ‫‪When‬‬ ‫‪you‬‬ ‫‪go‬‬ ‫‪to‬‬ ‫‪the‬‬ ‫‪city‬‬ ‫‪you‬‬ ‫‪feel‬‬ ‫‪opposi‬‬ ‫‪d when it rains,‬‬ ‫‪like‬‬ ‫‪no‬‬ ‫‪one‬‬ ‫‪is‬‬ ‫‪left‬‬ ‫‪at‬‬ ‫‪home.‬‬ ‫‪dust‬‬ ‫‪of the‬‬ ‫‪hearts‬‬ ‫‪textual‬‬ ‫‪d when‬‬ ‫‪it rains,‬‬ ‫‪It is raining, and when it rains,‬‬ ‫‪dust of the hearts‬‬ ‫‪IIthope‬‬ ‫‪that theand‬‬ ‫‪dust‬‬ ‫‪of the‬‬ ‫‪hearts‬‬ ‫‪is raining,‬‬ ‫‪when‬‬ ‫‪it rains,‬‬ ‫‪away and the smell‬‬ ‫‪I hope that the dust of the hearts‬‬ ‫‪stays‬‬ ‫‪awayon‬‬ ‫‪andour‬‬ ‫‪thehearts‬‬ ‫‪smell‬‬ ‫‪will be washed away and the smell‬‬ ‫‪d keep‬‬ ‫‪stays‬‬ ‫‪onit.our hearts‬‬ ‫‪ofwill‬‬ ‫‪thebe‬‬ ‫‪rain‬‬ ‫‪that stays‬‬ ‫‪ourthe‬‬ ‫‪hearts‬‬ ‫‪washed‬‬ ‫‪awayonand‬‬ ‫‪smell‬‬ ‫‪se‬‬ ‫‪of every‬‬ ‫‪moment‬‬ ‫‪Commen‬‬ ‫‪d keep‬‬ ‫‪it.‬‬ ‫‪will‬‬ ‫‪be‬‬ ‫‪safe.‬‬ ‫‪And‬‬ ‫‪keep‬‬ ‫‪it.‬‬ ‫‪of the rain that stays on our hearts‬‬ ‫‪above, so‬‬ ‫‪will‬‬ ‫‪be‬‬ ‫‪safe.‬‬ ‫‪And‬‬ ‫‪keep‬‬ ‫‪it.‬‬ ‫?‪opposite‬‬ ‫‪cultures‬‬ ‫‪textually,‬‬ ‫‪26‬‬

‫‪day.‬‬ ‫‪mth.‬‬ ‫‪31/01/2020 07:53‬‬

‫‪t countries and cultures‬‬

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the words we carry

Life is beautiful, make good use of every moment At dawn the birds sing to us one day.

Winter has created a special warmth.

In my city, people from different countries and cultures are friendly and loving, living together.

When you go to the city you feel like no one is left at home.

It is raining, and when it rains, I hope that the dust of the hearts will be washed away and the smell of the rain that stays on our hearts will be safe. And keep it.

Mustafa Noorzai Translated from the Dari (opposite page).

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In My New Life Outside my city is early dark.

My city is tired.

It relaxes in a favourite chair, a deep pool of dark treacle.

I can see moving candles calm in the church.

My tired city has friendly people.

I love the many colours of autumn leaves, falling.

Masoumeh Sabatiyam

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the words we carry

Carry One She carried you for nine months four days and one hour fiftythree minutes She carried you before she knew she carried you I carried the dotty echo translation of you in my wallet, an image from the future Tepid bath water carried her for six hours while I dreamt in the room next door A blue Ford Fiesta filled with biscuit crumbs carried us to Jessops Ward in summer just before early light I carried a Tens Machine and a Kindle Back Light in a bag stuffed with pyjamas, bananas, magazines, underwear They carried out some tests then pushed her down a corridor into a room where she was wired up to hear the heartbeat ‘Strong. Good and strong, irregular.’ The sound carried you into our ears, filling our world ‘Baby’s sleeping.’ Midwives carried clipboards, peered through the door ‘Baby’s moving,’ carried on their round I tried to carry the names of Tolstoy’s characters from chapter to chapter as Napoleon marched towards Moscow ‘Carry on,’ said the consultant

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She carries the memory of the epidural like a glistening stream trickling down the spine towards the toes, washing away the pain She said she loved the anaesthetist. I said don’t get carried away It wasn’t a Carry On film She started pushing, time passed, you didn’t come ‘We can’t carry on,’ said a new Midwife, ‘she’s exhausted’ She was carried away ‘You need,’ said the midwife ‘to keep calm,’ as she took me to another room to get dressed in the blue scrubs ‘to keep calm and carry on’ I saw her carried in a sheet onto a bed I saw how the medical staff carrying out their procedures, concentrated, precise, purposeful then the curtain so I couldn’t see the bottom half of the body A voice carried into my ear, ‘Don’t look at the reflection in the window, you can see everything you don’t want to see.’ A man in scrubs asked me about the holidays then your cry carrying out as strange as a realised I was carrying the glinting scissors to cut the cord and you were carried off cleared out I was told to leave at once wandering dazed down Glossop Road into the first black cab that would carry me home

Andrew Jeffrey

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Believein Ourselves Believe ininOurselves Ourselves Believe

the words we carry

AwadAbakar Abakar Awad Abakar Awad

Believe in Ourselves

Wecarry carrythoughts thoughtsin ourmind mind We carry thoughts ininour our mind We We carry thoughts in our mind to overcome discrimination toovercome overcomediscrimination discrimination to tocarry overcome Wecarry hopein inour ourhearts hearts We carry hope indiscrimination our hearts We hope We carry hope in our hearts to be ideal for the next generation tobe beideal idealfor forthe thenext nextgeneration generation to to be ideal for the next generation Wecarry carryour ourpast pastin ourhistory history We carry our past ininour our history We We carry alive our past in our history to keep within us tokeep keepalive alivewithin withinus us to to keep alive within us Wecarry carryour ourhappiness happinesstogether together We carry our happiness together We We carry our happiness together

Wehave havedreams dreamsin ourmind mind We have dreams ininour our mind We We have dreams in our mind become reality totobecome become reality to reality to become reality We believewe we areable ableto toachieve achieveour our dreams We believe we are our dreams We believe dreams We believe weare areable ableto toachieve achieve our dreams sooner later sooner oror later sooner or later sooner or later We carry flag made four colours We carry flag made ofoffour four colours We carry flag of colours We carry ourmade flag made of four colours red black green and white redred black green and white red black green black greenand andwhite white Red blood ofpeople peopledead dead‫دمددمم‬ Red isblood blood people dead Red ofof people dead Red isisisblood of Black is indigenous people ‫ﺻﻠﯿ‬ ‫ﺻﻠﯿ‬ ‫اﻟ اﻟاﺴﻟﻜﺴﺎﺴﻜﺎﻜنﺎ ا‬ Black is indigenous people Black is indigenous people Black is indigenous people ‫ﺻﻠﯿﯿﻦﯿﻦﻦ‬ ‫نناﻻاﻻﻻ‬ Green is the land ‫ض‬ ‫ر‬ ‫أ‬ Green is the land Greenisisthe theland land‫ض‬ ‫أ أررض‬ Green White ispeace peace White peace White White isisispeace ‫ﺳﺳﻼﺳمﻼﻼمم‬ Awad Abakar

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Carry My Body I carry my eyes, who witness the proud pick of handokoosh longing to the heart of sky. Safid koh covered in white snow, like a bride in the middle of the green valley.

I carry my ears full of the shouting of lablabo and shornakhot sellers on the street. The whistling of the cold wind in the Jade Asmaye. The noise of the crowd in froshgah and the shout of children playing in the neighbourhood.

My legs carry the pebbles of the narrow alleys of my city. The soft path to the fields not far from my home. The crunch, crunch of the snow when we played on the unbuilt house.

I carry my heart full of feelings. It’s so heavy with the memories of the bad days of war.

My feet are named and lost.

Qais Aryan

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Je Suis Une Montagne Un jour dans la vie je m’arrête et dis I am a mountain.

The friction of layers of pain and hard work Crashing together.

Je m’arrête et me demande: pourquoi es-tu une montagne?

A question of thought and strength To build a man.

I am a mountain of hope.

Trust in measures As I taste the fresh anger people have But not knowing it is only fear.

La montagne n’est rien d’autre que moi I am a mountain.

I have overcome the pain you feel when climbing a mountain, I have passed through the rocks and felt the strength to carry on.

I am a mountain of love.

I’m the mixture of languages from one sea to the other I have lost my touch.

Est ce-que je suis une montagne perdue?

I am a mountain.

My journey began at the bottom.

Tough to reach the peak.

I am a mountain Of dangerous dreams, holding the hope of others to see.

I am a mountain Because of the way of life I learnt from others.

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Perdu, es-tu perdu?

I am a mountain. Ho! Life. Here we go again.

I carry the weight to hear new fruit of life.

Lost in generations fall but I rise To the peak.

I am the Lion’s Head.

Diyo Mulopo Bopengo

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I Am Hungry I want a poem that stings like the tears the onions bring A verse so deep you can smell each subtle layer of spice Cardamom, cinnamon, cumin Each word like tearing your teeth through fresh chapati I want a poem that fills my empty stomach sustains me With chilis so hot you can’t bear any more But you can’t stop feasting Each mouthful you learn something however many times you make that recipe it is never quite the same

Cerowyn Browne

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My New City My city was dark to me when I first arrived, now it is light I didn’t have friends I couldn’t understand the language I didn’t know my place My first home I lived on Morgan Road I was excited but scared of being lost

Now I know my place I understand the language I have friends Now my new home on Verdon Road is very nice for me When I go outside I can see all the people living a life Some people selling Some people buying Some people enjoying Some people angry Some people running Some people relaxing I can see different people with different cultures coming together Asians buying African food Africans wearing European clothes Europeans listening to Asian music

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To the man who bangs on the wall when my children cry I want to say I am sorry, what can I do?

To the woman who makes me speak in front of a room full of people I want to say thank you My city was dark to me when I first arrived, now it is light

Sabira Abdullahi

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Ode to GT Slowly awakening Her brick-red veins come alive From Kitty to BV Guyana’s arms stretch far and wide Beating heart of diversity Like white light Pulsing through prisms Coolie Chinee Pudagee All of we Simmering in one big pressure pot One People, One Nation, One Destiny *sings* Dear Land of Guyana You wed Nigeria To create me Made from the fabric on my ancestors Breathing the strength of a nation I am one with the earth Chanting songs of freedom Empowered me from birth Skin soft as cotton Hue of rich ebony A stark reminder Of my God-given beauty

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As the rays begin to dim Calmly sizzling along the horizon The warm waves from the Atlantic Hit the sandy seawall floor Her tender lids Softly shut As she lays her head to sleep All over the land is silence Great Land of Guyana You ignited a fire Within my soul Whenever I am with you I most certainly feel ‘Whole!’ This is my Ode to you From Bartica to Rupununi The only home I knew My Ode to GT

Sarah Orola

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Botanical Gardens, Georgetown The six o’clock bee buzz buzz buzzes, Kiskadees self-proclaim.

My love smiles from the kissing bridge.

Tom Boydell

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Machli Ghar When I was little I was told you need to be sweet Clever and fast as horses.

Born in a big family Grandpa with his gaint digit brown old-style wrist watch counting every tick.

Grandma on a rocking chair in the corner with a freshly-blended coffee.

The hall was bright with glittering light.

Aroma of freshly-cooked food, chatpati chaat sizzling lemon and flaming hot spices.

Runny nose and coughs.

Gathering all members of the family, crying babies in the moving cradle.

Shouting running kids chasing each other.

Making this place Machli Ghar.

Everywhere I went I enjoyed, I was the happiest ever.

Giggling with khee khee sounds with some friendly bunch of cheeky chicks.

Nazia Khan

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Art is Food Sometimes I am hungry for images – nice, crispy images flavoured with gold, red or purple a great, big plate of an image – a feast for the eyes in oil – or pastilles!

Taking one bite at a time or stuffing it all in at once and when I am full knowing I can eat it again and again and again…

Michael Newman

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Breathe My city is fresh outside the window Constant freshening breaths, rising from the fields Breathing in through me with heavenly greets My city is here, the place I belong A place I call home in the low edges By the green fields, breathing It is so serene, comes over me Waves of gratitude Breathing through me A little distance from where I am The inner city of Sheffield The gleaming streets washed by the rain Reflects the lights and images of heavenly town Cool, fresh laughter in the breath of passers-by City with cosy cafes and exotic shops With winter gardens, majestic cathedrals Peace Gardens with birds breathing out their songs In numbers to match my dreams

Jasem Fathi

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nd Glory and Glory and Glory change the word

nd nd of of hope hope and and glory glory in in the the back back of of lorry lorry nd of hope and glory in the back of lorry nn the the left left lane lane is is mandatory mandatory

Land of Hope and Glory

ne,the lane is mandatory e, not inflammatory notleft inflammatory A rap e, not inflammatory me and territory r me and territory

rerogatory me and territory erogatory life life for for aa laboratory Ilaboratory come to the land of hope and glory in the back of lorry erogatory life for a laboratory Where driving in the left lane is mandatory ific ific story story story ooific hear the hear the full full story storyThey’re so polite, not inflammatory o hear the full storyIt’s new land for me and territory I substituted a derogatory life for a laboratory 20 20 down down from from Surrey Surrey My life is a horrific story 20 down from Surrey came sorry came to to us us and and say sayGather sorry around to hear the full story came to us and say sorryno nything empty anything empty stomach stomach no fotory fotory It was on the M20 down from Surrey anything empty stomach no fotory through through this this country country when the police came to us and say sorry through this country e an interview ke an interview I don’t haven’t anything empty stomach no fotory ke listen you come through this country ee an interview you need to make an interview e ain’t got any clue in in aa big big bubble bubble a big bubble had aa lot of ein had lot of trouble troubleWe used to live in a big bubble In the Jungle we had a lot of trouble er came had a lot of came make make ittrouble it double double When the winter came make it double rayable came make it double ayable p.44:right was playable Our ayable I’m more comfortable I’m more comfortable In the UK I feel I’m more comfortable Change ‘A rap’ to subtitle size: ‫ ﻓﻲ ﻛﺎﻟﻲ‬3 ‫ي ﺧﺎﻟﻲ أﻧﺎ ﻟﯿﮭﻢ ﻻ أﺑﺎﻟﻲ ﻟﻲ‬ I’m more comfortable ‫ ﻓﻲ ﻛﺎﻟﻲ‬3 ‫ي ﺧﺎﻟﻲ أﻧﺎ ﻟﯿﮭﻢ ﻻ أﺑﺎﻟﻲ ﻟﻲ‬ 3 ‫ﻲﻲﻟﻲﻲوو‬ ‫يﻮﻮممﺧﺎﻟﻻﻻﻲااﻛأﻛﻧﺎ‬ 3 ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ﺴ‬ ‫ھ‬ ‫ﺖ‬ ‫ﯿ‬ ‫ﺟ‬ ‫ﻦ‬ ‫ﯾ‬ ‫ﺮ‬ ‫ﺘ‬ ‫ﻟ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ﻦ‬ ‫ﻣ‬ ‫ﻲ‬ ‫ﺳ‬ ‫ﺑﯾﯾﺎﺎﻟﺎﺧﺧ‬..‫ﻞﻞ ﻟﯿﻻﻻﮭﻢﻣﻣﻮﻮﯾﻻﯾﺔﺔأ‬ ‫ﯾﯾ‬ ‫ﻲﻲ ﻣﻛﻣﺎﻟﺮﺮﺳ‬ ‫ﺿﻌﻓﻌﻲ‬ ‫ﺿ‬ I feel paranoid 3 ‫ﻲﻲ ﻣﻦ اﻟﺘﺮﯾﻦ ﺟﯿﺖ ھﺴﻲ‬ Land of Hope and Glory 3 ‫ﻲﻲ وﺿﻌﻲ ﻣﺮﺳﻲ ﻣﻦ اﻟﺘﺮﯾﻦ ﺟﯿﺖ ھﺴﻲ‬ ‫ﺸﻲﺧ‬ ‫ﯾﺸﺎ‬.‫ﻻﮭﮭﻢﻣﻢﻮوﯾوااﺔﻓﻓ‬ ‫ﯾﻋﻋﺎﻮﺎﯾﯾمﺪﺪ ااﻻﺣا‬ ‫ﺣﻜﻛﻜﻲﻞﻲ ﻟﻟﯿﯿ‬

A rap

‫ﻋﺎﯾﺪ اﺣﻜﻲ ﻟﯿﮭﻢ واﻓﺸﻲ‬ me from? me and and where where you you come come from?

What’s your name and where you come from? me andhad where you come from?

I come fromof a civilisation county had seven thousand years of civilisation ounty seven thousand years ‫ﻀﺎﺎررةة‬ ounty had seven thousand years of civilisation ‫ﯾﯾﻌﻌﻨﻨﻲﻲ ﺣﺣﻀ‬

had seven thousand years civilisation ‫ﻀﺎرة‬one: ‫ﯾﻌﻨﻲ ﺣ‬ east sub-Sahara Final line onofthe page – change the Arabic word to this hounty east of of sub-Sahara h‫ﯾﻌﻌ‬east of sub-SaharaLocated in north east of sub-Sahara ‫ﯾ‬ A A lot lot of of Sufis Sufis ‫طﮭﺎرة‬ ee‫ﯾﻌ‬

yyegovernment government they they burnt burnt my my house house and and took took my my place place 44 y government they burnt my house and took my place in her face s in her face

sooin herwhat faceI've say say what I've been been through through is is disgrace disgrace o say what I've been through is disgrace has has some some risk risk has some ment makes me GC002_WordsWeCarry.indd 44 ment makesrisk me feel feel sick sick

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What’s your name and where you come from?

I come from a county had seven thousand years of civilisation Located in north east of sub-Sahara

the words we carry

A lot of Sufis ‫ﯾﻌﻨﻲ‬ Fulaniisismy myrace race Fulani I was targeted burntmy myhouse houseand andtook took I was targetedby bygovernment government they they burnt my place my place I see the sadness in her face I see the sadness in her face Likeshe shewants wantstotosay saywhat what I’ve I've been Like been through throughisisdisgrace disgrace Seekingasylum asylumhas hassome somerisk risk Seeking Hostile feel sick sick Hostileenvironment environment makes makes me me feel If you don’t believe me check the Independent newspaper p9 If you don’t believe me check the Independent newspaper p9 by Robert Fisck

by Robert Fisck Mymain mainmeals mealsegg eggwhites whitesand and the the establishment My establishmentisisaawhisk whisk I gaineda alot lotofofprotein protein ‫ طﮭﺎر‬my I gained mybody bodybecame becamethick thick If you have any complaint This is tickets for a bus tram or train To come and sign every week no exceptions Severe weather hot cold even rain If you miss you will find yourself detained

Mazin Saad

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Propranolol we flow around the world to freedom we went through dark to light past borders and guards stamps after stamps nervous sweats worries veins when I’m with you I’m calm as the English channel on August 22 you got lost in a sea of cold we reunited at Mulberry in the city of Sheffield sat together in the bus shoulder to shoulder sharing the moments my true friend

Javid Azh

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Lonely The cool gnaw of winter winds burns tearful faces.

Reassures me I am human.

A candle’s swirling smoke, a beautiful intoxication.

The musk of old novels crowds my senses, creating a story from forsaken fantasies.

The shout of an empty hallway.

A familiar, dreamlike dance.

The crunch of autumn leaves makes my childhood grow tired as each year passes.

A blanket of night.

A calm, eventless murmur.

Oh how it pleases the lonely.

Maddox Bryson

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The Broken Trident I I I I I

am am am am am

made made made made made

of thunder. by the light crossing the sky. of the fear people see in the sky. of the storms that challenge the earth. of the lava that causes the earth to shake.

I I I I I I I I

am am am am am am am am

made made made made made made made made

of of of of of of of of

I I I I I

am am am am am

made made made made made

of thunder. of light that shines the sky. of the power of the trident that strikes the sky. of life after a storm. to strike.

thunder. lightning that shoots the moon. the heavenly drop of joy. the hope people see when there is new rain. the doom to last at the last day. the wind that challenges the cloud. the storm that floods the sea. the sound that people fear.

Diyo Mulopo Bopengo

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When you don’t use it you will lose it When I was young, I always picked up words from other tribes.

The village where I used to live has many tribes and many languages. One of the words I picked up is bara – in English it is milk. I still remember it.

When I was ten I had learned about fifty words from seven different languages. Just from playtime in my own village. But in same year since I left the village and moved to a city. I started to lose all of them. One led to another. I forgot the words.

Some of them still stick in my mind. When I speak with someone and try to explain, I know the word but it never comes out. These are annoying moments, I am muttering and mumbling to cover them.

Manchester accent:

ead to ead otel

Normal English: head to head hotel

It reminds me of my first days in Sheffield. I only knew few words: Hi! Hello! Yes, no, thank you. I lived my first month.

Just I felt out of place. I forgot the words.

Awad Abakar

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Where I’m From There was lots of Quran There were people praying I could smell perfume I could hear the azan beginning I could feel the Quran I could feel grown up The sting of new smells I uncover my blanketed hope The smell of joyful drinks Noises of sharing dreams

Huzaifah Abdullahi Aged 7

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Marriage Made Heaven Marriage arranged across an ocean First met on St. Valentine’s Day 1982 at Heathrow Airport A smile beaming through arrival gates A welcome stranger Nerves bouncing around the tiled walls He fell in love instantly She took years He was homesick Culture shocked Bravely faced a new language Employment issues Independent woman syndrome She couldn’t reach across to him Find their common ground Time passed Children came along He saw her dream of education Became a modern house husband Now he is her soft blanket She laughs when she is wrapped in him She feels his love She would not have chosen him to marry She could not have chosen anyone better

Raqia U-Din 51

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Where is my home?

Where is my home?

Where do I come from?

My childhood, my memory Life built on hilarity Where I used to wake up by prayer I still hear the sound of the preacher The church bell ringing The mosque leader calling The rooster cockadocadoo My alarm to start my daily do Do I belong to that place?

Where is my home?

The imprinted word in my mind Your home is not this world But in the sky up in Eden Do I belong to what’s written?

Where is my home?

Do I belong to this free land?

My body lives without soul My presence is secluded My safety has proper veil Where is my home?

Question remains No answer to belongingness Where is my home?

Yordanos Gebrehiwot 52

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My Poem Is Home My poem is ghorma-sabzi My poem is fresh heavenly herbs Skewers of lamb, red kidney-beans Dried lemon Simmering with love Served with rice My mum has made

Pervading the air Waiting for my lunch Arriving from school

My poem is my mum It is soul food

My poem is home

Jasem Fathi

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People Make a City Great A city is made, not of chimney, tower or steeple Not of bricks, mortar or glass, but the people.

Unique individuals, woman or man, young or old, Black or white, they balance the city’s scales.

At Sheffield cathedral to see the lights – A fantastic display of the Christmas story Shone in colour onto the walls – Amongst it all a banner says ‘Sheffield cathedral, a place for all people’.

This then is ‘Sheffield, a city for all people’.

I’ve always been proud of Sheffield Since it was a ‘black hole’ And is now ‘the greenest city’.

When I was young the sparrows flew backwards To keep soot out of their eyes.

If you peered down you could see your feet But you could barely see across the street.

The clean air act affected households and factory smoke Making the city much cleaner.

Work on the gardens, woods and parks made it greener.

People from elsewhere like the city Want to come and want to stay Hope to find work and would like to play They will find welcome here,

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Could become the latest group of ‘Sheffielders’.

It’s a two-way deal and I’m sure they would want To bring something to the city too.

People make a city – Sheffield is truly ‘a place for all people’.

Nev Wheeler

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My City is a River My city is a river which flows from a high valley Soaked in golden sunrise Through Peaks, hills and moorland From the source Over boulders and pebbles, glistening like mercury Through crevice, moss-covered rock Rough gritstone Through thick peat bog Rich as dark coffee Damp dark earth growing another world to ours A million miniature heather trees Rose, orange and violet Ice-cold and crystal clear, my city’s rivers flow over my bare city feet As I stand on the river bed My city’s rivers flow among the Sheaf and down Down through reeds, past ducks, under bridges Past old steel works Dirt and grinding grime Most now deserted It weeps for the life that was The scars left behind Under bridges, Salmon pastures, Bacon Lane, Meadowhall, While cranes stand still – the timeless watchmen

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Voles forage beneath fishermen who sit In camping chairs, waiting placidly for a tug on their line Monuments to time passing

Daisy Frossard

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22 Years of Darkness I come from 22 years of darkness I come from a time of no peace No hope and guilt.

From people wrapped up in tradition and culture Each layer of its deep knotted cloth Hiding away the emptiness beneath.

From a place where what people will say log kya kehein geh matters the most.

A family who feels my darkness But can’t light a candle for me.

I come from simplicity and shyness Sacrifices made to keep family ties.

From finding joy in the smiles of others.

No one knew how I hid the pain Under the fakeness of mine.

I come from a belief: life is a test Blessings of Allah will always shower Giving us light and power

I come from people who gave me duas like sweets I will always need them.

I come from love and affection, soft like velvet.

A flame to share that can’t be put out.

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My 22 years of darkness are like the seed under the soil Just starting to grow, pushing its way, resilient, Into the beautiful light of spring.

Nighat Basharat

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My Child Dressed like Little Bo Peep So tiny and sweet My life felt complete Then the dreaded dark shadow Snatched my child away I snapped in half like a wooden doll Shrieked like an animal Crushed in a metal foot trap Whimpering in pain Now I’m empty My arms bare Invisible gaps looming I close my eyes and smell The faint scent of Johnson & Johnson powder On the frills of her off-white frock My precious child I love you Thank you for passing through Now I wait Until I come to youÂ

Raqia U-Din

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Yorkshire Rose I come from Yorkshire to deal with life that’s hard like Sheffield steel.

Yet like a hardcase crab my insides are tasty, soft and delicate.

Lace sprinkles line my windows hiding the green jewel of my heart.

A Yorkshire rose will bloom with travel.

Liberate me.

I come from the anticipation of life’s journey – where will it go tomorrow – I can still hear yesterday.

Keep going, be bold, be brave, whatever it is you’ve got this cuz yer from Yorkshire n tha’ll be reyt!

Jayne Keen

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Sheffield, City of Steel He works so hard His hands are scarred He loves to belong To all in his world His arms are so strong Those shoulders can bear heavy woes There are things he can do He’d love to help you We all have limitations He awaits your invitations And this is the thing, Listen now!

When he works You will hear him sing.

Donald Keeling

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Flowering I am made of sunflowers Bright, yellow petals

I am made of trees A small tree Growing bigger, with branches Leaves and scented blossom

I am made of my mother’s cooking Herbs, spices, fruit, onion, garlic Always wanting more

Kiriakoulla

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Arborio If you want a poem get a large onion skin it and chop finely. Is it stinging?

You want a poem so blink through the breath filling the kitchen move on to trim

celery stalks that crack fresh and light as morning. Chop them up. If you want

a poem like a heavy pan you can barely lift keep going, glug in olive oil add

butter to seize the arteries.

See it translucent, like a poem

if you want take a sip of white wine tang – one for the pot, one for the

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poet who forgets – stubby Arborio whose starch turns to cream in the mouth.

Andrew Jeffrey

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Lem Lem I was eight I helped inእንጀራ the kitchen Injera Injera Making injera እንጀራ Lem Lem The cooking bran was eight SmellsIIII was nice in the helped in the kitchen kitchen helped TastesMaking goodinjera Making injera እንጀራ change the word

The cooking cooking bran The Smells nice Smells Now, Tastes ITastes livegood in Sheffield

Now, Now, II live live in in Sheffield Sheffield

I am made of II am of am made made of The colour pink The colour pink Warm home WarmWarm home homeand walks in the park Swimming Swimming andwalks walksofinmilk the the park park The childhood smell Swimming and in The childhood smell of milk The childhood Lem Lem smell of milk

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Sheffield Here, in Sheffield – the heart of many things South of north and north of south I am a northern southerner a southern northerner living on the border of Yorkshire and Derbyshire of Mercia and Northumbria of Past and Future of Hopes and Fears of Dreams and Drudgeries I live this bi-polar life finding balance between the banks of the Sheaf flowing down the Meers Brook into the warm embrace of Sheffield

Michael Newman

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Teddy Bear Hug I see my nephew Sirhaan, light in my life sweet fragrance wrapped up like freshly picked roses

I hear his cheekiness jumping, intelligence in his laughter, mast in his own world while reality churns around him

The peace, joy, sakoon, I feel when I get a teddy bear hug

Holding tight squeezing stomach against mine, soft worry-forgetting silence

His hug, so powerful light entering an empty dark room sprinkling it with noor

May his life fill with happiness, and teddy bear hugs

Nighat Basharat

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My city (or my mother’s arms) I wander streets hung with memories Weaving more with threads old and new South Road, I’d walk each day to St. Mary’s primary Hand wrapped in a parent’s hand The smell of wet pavement and bright icy air We passed a woman every morning like dusty porcelain She gave me a small purse when I turned ten I saw her recently by the orange leaves of Crookes valley Would she recognise me?

Botanical gardens, not far from King Edwards We’d sit and eat Tesco meal deals and sandwiches Simon made Cramming onto the benches Worries about popularity, and boys and grades Terrified butterflies in the greenhouse after you asked me on a date Beanies, round the corner My mother painted that sign 25 years ago Now she is framed in the window of their new café painting another They serve me purple carrots, coffee in a pumpkin and friendship Tinsley, Darnall, Burngreave I walk to places I have never been Taste many flavours colliding My city is many worlds Lives next to lives

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It is a patchwork quilt, bright and beautiful But worn and frayed at the edges I journey all over this city spread across seven hills like Rome But yet it is still a village Smiles in the street Every day meeting someone who knows someone you know Here I am more than a face on the tram Next stop by request will be Streets hung with memories South Road, Botanical Gardens, Beanies Many flavours Tinsley, Darnall, Burngreave A patchwork quilt Warmth against the cold Smiles in the street My mother’s arms

Cerowyn Browne

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Humming Sheffield Wellingtons Flying above the river Sheaf Confluence of myriad tales Whispers of legends of coal Sparkly waters play peekaboo overground Powering this metropolis of sanctuary Anchored in dancing steel Teasing our unrevealed story Wily robin looks down in awe At humming wellington boots Worn by residents in rainbow jumpers On cobbled moss walkways Heading for the cathedral’s elf hat In our common home the city of Sheffield

Tchiyiwe Thandiwe Chihana

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Twisting Words When I was little, the height of the table leg, I was eye to eye with Indian elephants, carved gods, jasmine flowers winding up the sheesham wood of my dad’s childhood. I tried to turn my tongue around his Tamil, mastered thumbi little brother and thungachi little sister, but didn’t know the ‘kneedeep kneedeep’ calls of the frogs that sent him to sleep each night, or the rustle of a panther in the long Korakundah grass – stealer of dogs – or the thwack of the stick on the bush as he ventured on his pudgy legs all the way to the cud where the rivers fell off the side of the earth into clouds of shola forest and spirits below.

Now I’m hungry for those sounds, to hear his precise English vowels succumb to the palate-flick, the glottal rasp of his past.

Consonants flitting around his mouth like water boatmen dancing,

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the words we carry

spindly legs leaving a mark on the surface, like time, just for a moment.

Emily Webb

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Singing the Baba Yaga Words When I was nine my father drove off up the lane, the red boot of his car packed with our un-boxed narrative. We sat on the sofa, quiet, eyes-to-the-carpet, Saturday morning light striping our socks, whilst you stretched your remaining vowels until they frayed – taught, just wide enough to hold us.

We clung to our consonants.

On the phone we clacked them out, back, back, back - but they hung about the empty rooms, slipping out on the wind at the first crack of a window. It wasn’t long before the new words came: rough, back-ofthe-throat sounds that split in mid-air, crumpling chins and cheeks.

I stood curious, catching glimpses through door gaps, the pitter patter of plosives pushing on lips during late afternoon phone calls. One night, I heard them under the bed, clattering around in the dark.

I began to hate the way you let these new words string themselves up across the house. Swallowing them whole, evenings in bed digesting.

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Friends waved from the path, not wanting to catch their soured taste, eyes closed to the wan-faced syllables sitting with us at breakfast.

When I smelt their musty dampness on your cheek, I recoiled, tried to rub them off in flakes, dried mud peeled from the skin.

Now, we stand outside your bedroom, full grown, waiting in the slither of under-door-light to creep in. We hunger for mornings when we will wake, three in a bed, and speak our words brokenly, frangible as the dappled sun playing on our bedsheets.

Connie Treves

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Don’t Look Me Down don’t look me down I come from the top of the mountain running along the mountain’s high close to the sky I come from there near the top don’t look me down I am running along

Qais Aryan

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The Change the Word Poets My name is Andrew. I’m from the borders. I’m made of words and waves.

My name is Awad. I come from Sudan. I am made of foam, waves and water of the river Nile. I am made of sand and trees, between the Hor and Kaga valleys, in the shadow of the Marra and Nuba mountains.

My name is Cerowyn. I am made of Weetabix, unconditional love and adventures in wild places.

My name is Connie. I am made of muddy banks, mossy bark and books piled up under my bed.

My name is Daisy. I come from musical notes, big bands, trumpets and symbols and Celtic blood.

My name is Diyo. I am from DRC. I am made of thunder.

My name is Donald. My mother called me Duck!

My name is Emily. I am made of glinting spider webs strung across winter trees like the lines of a poem.

My name is Huzaifah. I am from Kenya. I am seven years old.

I love my red bike. I love my family.

My name is Jasem. I am made of mountains, the heights of my land of the Kurds. Exotic Iran, ancient treasure.

My name is Jayne. I come from the anticipation of life’s journey, a patchwork of feisty emotion.

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My name is Jey. From the dark side of the moon.

My name is Kiriakoulla. Or Angel. I share my name with everybody daily. I am always pure of heart.

My name is Lem Lem. I come from Eritrea. I am made of milk, I am made of warm home.

My name is Maddox. I am made of Sheffield steel, resilient to the tremors of change that take away my movement and ability.

I push through and achieve life.

My name is Masoumeh. I come from Iran. I would like to study in university and become like a butterfly.

My name is Mazin. I am born and raised in Sudan. I arrived to the UK. I am made of oxygen, water. I am made of burned forest.

My name is Michael. A quiet place. A bend in the river.

My name is Nazia. I am from Pakistan. I am made of velvety plucked rose petals and I love my cheeky children.

My name is Nev. ‘A man on the move.’ A little pushing and a lot of shove.

My name is Nighat. I originate from Pakistan and am made in Sheffield. Embracing diversity and spreading love and affection.

My name is Qais. I come from the far end of the earth. I am made of the light crashing into the earth.

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My name is Raqia. I am a woman of Quabliat. I have dared to dream, push boundaries, take pride in my achievements.

My name is Sabira. I am from Ethiopia. I am made of love for my children and I like to be friends with all people.

My name is Sarah. The Land of Many Waters flows through me. My words transcend boundaries and give voice to a nation.

My name is Surtag. Indian, born in Yemen. We survived an exhausting journey through bombs, bazookas, hand grenades, heavy waves and fire. I am a widow. But my children and I look forward to a bright future now that we are all safe in Sheffield, England.

My name is Tchiyiwe. I come from Bantu warriors and Ngoni queens. I am made of Bradford’s finest wool.

My name is Tom. Aged 80, flowing on my journey into the future.

My name is Yordanos. I come from the proud nation, packed with love and laughter.

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