Second Generation

The tongue’s the place of hybrid culture

Spitting languages like fire from the East

But the other comes more naturally

Saarey jahaan se achaa and God save the Queen.

Am I thinking like a coloniser?

A child of the colonised

A heart split with betrayal

Because in my mother tongue I struggle to

communicate. No, I’m a picture of the East

born into the West. My culture’s neither here nor there

– it’s all mixed up. Us children of immigrants

we’re something else entirely. We take the best of each

and create our own. No fixed place, we’re nomads,

through cultures we roam.