Home > Covid Chronicles > Poetry by Nayma Chamchoun

My name is Nayma Chamchoun, I am a 51 year old British Moroccan. I lived on LWE for 26 yrs and now reside in Ladbroke Grove and have always felt the Latimer Road & Ladbroke Grove community to be a beautiful melting pot of diversity.


The aching disbelief
Of the scene I perceive.
Blue knee on a black neck.
The horror I can't forget.
I can't breathe!

The world's conscience on the street.
Minneapolis burning.
The  troubled tide, turning.
The hurt that refuses to retreat.

The Trump chumps jeering.
The hate fed, easily led
Slinging mud at the dead.
Murder justified by the "God fearing".

Parading their jingoistic insecurities on a platter.
Their master's voice soothes and flatters.
Buoy their bigotry and see how they jabber.
"All Lives Matter!"

The denial of privilege
White or otherwise.
The stranger chastised.
A  passive aggressive verbiage.

Afraid of minority status in their own land.
The First Nations know the score
And their ancestors before.
General Custer's kin taking The Past's Stand.

Fearing the same crushing treatment
And condescending appeasement
Of minorities at their hands.
The unmasked Klan.
A Confederate caravan.
The  vain victimhood they present.

Minnesota awash with rage.
A sleeping world wakes with a start.
Around the globe protestors march.
Racial equality takes centre stage.

A chief charlatan with a Bible.
A murderous teen with a rifle.
A belligerent bonfire of discontent
Ablaze with the rancour they augment.

The mothers who cannot be appeased
By another whitewash from the police.
The riled red caps mobilize
To condemn and villainize
The racially profiled
Minorities crying out "I can't breathe."

Discredit the victim but not the assassin.
Approving Police brutality.
Excusing black fatalities.
Desensitised and barren of compassion.

"Black Lives Matter!"
Across the Earth, Flash fires of dissent.
Dismantling colonial remnants
As the Right-Wing resentfully vent.
"All Lives Matter!"
"Blue Lives Matter!"
The incessant chatter.

The Boomer and the Libtard. 
The Gammon and Millennial.
Their grievances, perennial.
Shoulder chips and race cards.
Their words, cutting and charred.

Each wing working against the other.
A grounded bird.
A piqued pot stirred
Until it bitterly pops and splutters.

Dr King's children back to shatter
The privilege, still denied.
Murder will be televised.
Through the eye of a needle
Threads the power of the people.
The bothered bleating sheeple.
At the heavy heart of the matter
Black Lives Matter!