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!
When They Were Young

Rucksacks tossed on the floor.
Shoes obstructing the hallway.
Impatient hands make a grab
for the snack cupboard.
Uniforms off first!

Pint-sized limbs thunder down the stairs,
Full of chatter and mirth.
I longed for time.
Time to be the other me.

A time to mingle and socialise.
To proudly protest and vocalise.
To dance the night away.
Home at the break of day.

A nod to the irresponsible me.
No school runs to run your day.
Sitting in the driving seat instead.
A road trip of self discovery.

All the energy and none of the time.
Grasping sand to be left with the grains.
Plan for a day when time's demands wane.
A time when time's on your hands.

All of the time and none of the energy.
Shoes neatly stored in the shoe rack.
School's out so the teachers kick back.
Infecund classrooms and lethargy.

The reserve is sluggish and spent.
No will for idle chat or the idiocy it exposes.
The mind willing, the dance, the body opposes.
To protest now, inefficient.

No toy hands diving into the fruit bowl.
The waxy oranges undisturbed.
The longed for order unperturbed.
Order to take order of losing control.
A Hood in Notting Hill

Heading for a fall.
Where advancement is stalled.
Funding has been cut.
Youth clubs are shut.
The citadel ablaze
With money saved.
Warnings in the ash.
Pulling against the tide
Of statistical projection.
Genteel gentrification.
A hotbed of crime.
Here's a dime,
Call someone who cares.
Switchboards drowning in calls.

Praying for it all.
If you can't run crawl.
Nevermind where you start.
800K, before a fall.
Charred bricks with green hearts.
The neglected track
Holding you back.
Don't fall through the cracks 
As you salute 
Those who broke through.
Paying tribute.
The faces we knew.
Remembering the time
You almost had it all.
The raised pistol roars.
Your shot to soar.