10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Collection copyright English PEN, 2014

The moral right of the authors has been asserted.
The views expressed in this book are those of the individual
authors, and do not necessarily represent the opinions of the
editors, publishers or English PEN.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright
reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any
form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the
copyright owner and the publisher of the book.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from
the British Library.
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Aldgate Press,
Units 5&6, Gunthorpe Street Workshops,
3 Gunthorpe Street, London E1 7RQ
www.aldgatepress.co.uk
Designed by Brett Biedscheid,
www.statetostate.co.uk


2
4
5

INTRODUCTIONS

FOUR TIMES

31 DAVID OF THE LILY FIELDS

Javaid Miah and Kristina Terech

Joelle Taylor
Louise Swan
Eddie Playfair

32 SWAN SONG

Georgia Standen
34 PIG IRON

Georgia Standen

Christianah Adenji

8 G-FATHER
Gideon
9

35 DUALISM

Enfys Walker

THE SEX TRADE

36

Georgia Standen

10 BEGINNINGS

Ali Syed and Afsana Choudhury
12 FAIRY TALES

Enfys Walker

Enfys Walker

36 NEWS BROADCAST

Georgia Standen and Vanessa Joshua

38 DNA
Gideon

14 THE GREAT ESCAPE

Afsana Choudhury

39 THE UNKNOWN

Javaid Miah

15 LONELINESS

Javaid Miah

STREET SOLDIER

39 AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Georgia Standen

17 GRIEF

Jamal Abdullah

40 THE PEARL

Samirah Shaikh

17 KNOW YOUR PLACE

Vanessa Joshua
18 THE MOST BEAUTIFUL

Vanessa Joshua

SUICIDE

45 SWEAR ON YOUR

Javaid Miah

22 THE KEYS

Kristina Terech

24 THE CHORE

Kristina Terech
26 SMOKE SIGNALS

Priscilla Manual
26 FRONT LINES

Samirah Shaikh and Kat Lewis
29 THE WATCH

Kat Lewis

MY LOVE

SHELL

43 YOUR AVERAGE WHITE

Kristina Terech

21 TIGERS IN CHAINS

Samirah Shaikh

23 AND BEAUTIFUL THINGS

Kristina Terech

42 LIFE STORY

Samirah Shaikh
42 TRAPPED IN A

Samirah Shaikh

HOMES

20 STALKING

Kristina Terech

30 GOOD BYE

Razia Labiba

A PHOTOGRAPH OF BODY BAGS

AFTER THE SYRIAN GAS ATTACKS

38 LIPSTICK GRAFFITI

Enfys Walker

13 BIRD SONG

Javaid Miah

19 A TALE OF TWO

Razia Labiba

FLY BY

LIFE

COLLAR, 9-5

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

The title of this collection (UN)MUTE reflects

the process through which the curious and quiet
young writers of Brave New Voices journeyed.
At the beginning of the session, the silence
of the participants became the loudest thing
about them. Over the weeks, they grew, they
teethed, they found their voices (some beneath
the bed, others exactly where they had left them
years before) and they began to speak.
The mute button was off and it has remained so,
defiantly in some cases. This collection is loud.
Be careful when you open the pages.
JOELLE TAYLOR
JUNE 2014

(UN)MUTE

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

These poems are the result of the Brave New Voices project, which supports
new writers in multilingual communities, and is a partnership between NewVIc
(Newham Sixth Form College) and English PEN.
English PEN is the founding centre of an international writers association,
working to promote literature and freedom of speech. Our outreach programme,
Readers and Writers, works with communities where the power of literature
can help to transform lives. With the staff and students at NewVIc we have built
Brave New Voices as a series of workshops in which young people develop their
skills as creative writers, reading the world around them, and writing about
their own experiences.
In this collection (UN)MUTE there are angels with broken wings, rasping wolves
and singing chairs; theres a love song to Bangladesh, memories of mothers and
fathers, kisses stolen, lives lost - and found.
Id like to thank the students who worked so hard and imaginatively in writing their
poems, and the staff at NewVIc, especially Georgia Standen and Steven Kern, for
their support.
Thanks, also, to Kat Lewis the shadow facilitator and Joelle Taylor, who led the
workshops with such passion and flair.

Louise Swan

Head of Programmes, English PEN

June 2014

(UN)MUTE

We desperately need poetry in this age of prose and in our own way we are all
poets; reaching out to others and shaping our language more or less carefully
to share how we feel.
These brave new voices from NewVIc have used powerful and beautiful imagery
to express the pain and joy, hope and despair, resistance and self-discovery of life.
This collection offers us some wonderful new poems and the promise of
more to come.
Thank you Afsana, Ali, Enfys, Georgia, Gideon, Jamal, Kristina, Razia, Samirah,
Sara, Vanessa, Priscilla, Christianah, and Javaid.
Thank you also to Joelle, Kat and English PEN for making this possible.

Eddie Playfair

Principal, Newham Sixth Form College (NewVIc)

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

(UN)MUTE

FOUR TIMES
Christianah Adenji

I have died four times

The first time
Was in a white room
Will was looking at me
And asking me if I could
still see
The second time
Was in a school room
A scuff of feet
Everyone were against me
Just because I was different
The third time
Was in my pink and wonderful room
From there I could hear my parents fights
Unfortunately I didnt do anything in that situation
I was crying in my room and wish to stop the fight
Finally the fourth
It was August 2012
When I came to this country
This land of hope and glory
Full of strangers
Not knowing what to do.

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

G-FATHER
Gideon

Like the great Zimbabwe, built to last

Each strand of hair fades into white memories
White black white black
Its fading through the dark windows
Like the looks from charcoal pupils
In the distance, the iris contracts
With a burning desire, mind elevated.
His skin is a patch of earth
From earth to earth he truly belongs
His culture in his veins
Blood vessels that are carrying a generation
Oxygen pumped through lungs
Each breath feast onto my existence
Splish splash pop from him to me One grows quick. A rabbit generation
It was me; until a sister. Same light-bulb eyes
Thats what he doesnt see.
Great, great father like I said you were built to last
An hour glass in reverse, I sit with you
I see what you see
Ah. But you still see black and white
I see the colour of everything
I am you.
I am you.
I.
I.
Am.
You.

(UN)MUTE

THE SEX TRADE

Georgia Standen

Weve all been slaves

But her name is Anya
And she hasnt seen the sun
In over four weeks
She wears shackles on her arm
That chain her to the bed
Her arm itches where the needle is
And shes sleepy all the time
Sometimes she dreams
That there are figures above her
Shadow angels that grunt in her ear
And make her tummy hurt
Anya is thirteen years old
Her favourite colour is pink
And she lives in Sofia
With her mum and her sister
Or at least she used to
Before this room
These four walls
And the bed.

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

BEGINNINGS
Ali Syed and Afsana Choudhury

I was raised by a dream come true

a young heart filled with such hope
a gentle loving soul.
A charomh adorable man
from such a vast land
He only knew men
But yearned for a woman
An equally precious
with eyes like jewels
and a womb that gave treasures
from whom I was raised
fell for a careless mans
careful daughter
and I just wonder if I could raise
another

10

(UN)MUTE

11

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

FAIRY TALES
Enfys Walker
Limbo is lilac, embossed
Wallpaper behind hidden table legs
Snow melts in an embroidered dressing gown
Her raven wig, crawling, leaching life
She dabs, scarring her skin with beautiful poison
And tastes her apples, before the final touch.
The corset
The arms of her lover
Squeeze tight
And the apples falls from her lips
As her prince stoops for his final kiss
And walks away.
Ebony turns her face
Painting on detergent with a stinging grace
Cleaning her brush on the latest cosmo
Nimble fingers smeared ruby red
From the blonde weave shackled to her head
Nicky Minaj struts on a shining screen
And Ebony screams
A Michael Jackson song
And smothers her face
Foundation masking every trace
Of the life shes led before her date
And two girls skip down a path
Scarcely hearing the rusty rasp
Of the wolves.

12

(UN)MUTE

BIRD SONG
Javaid Miah
Why wasnt I chosen as a white bird?
I mean a dove, the one at those
weddings; the one that makes people happy peace, flapping into the divine sky.
So they cage me because I got a black
face and grey wings. Im just the
same, as any other bird; fly and sing.
Still I get caged and chained for my
Black face
I escaped by the way. But you know
theres nothing there in those dove places,
not for me: the black face; its all just
dark and dreary, scary and fear.
Why wasnt I chosen as a white bird?
wrong: why was I chosen as a black bird?
Why do I even bother asking?
I mean, after all were all the same.
Birds are all the same. But with different songs.

13

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

THE GREAT ESCAPE

Afsana Choudhury
I wish I was given something that
Did not cost money
wish I was heard and my name was
honey
to quiet ears
Wish I hadnt been treated so badly
By friends school and family
I wish wherever I went it was always
warm, no more hurts, taunts or scolds
If the best things in life are free
then so are the worst
But their part was only first
Maybe Im better wiser and stronger
I faced the coldest weather
For whatever its worth
I learnt happiness comes first
I learnt how to scream yell and dream
I sit here adjacent
with heart filled with amazement
wearing my great escape

14

(UN)MUTE

LONELINESS
Javaid Miah
He poured his hand in the fish tank
many times being unsuccessful
his hand losing or, cramping tightly.
Dipping hand by hand
The feeling of the hairs on his hand
Suddenly, sending shivers to him,
waking him, eyes opening to the
cold wet water.
He put his hand down one day, the tank,
finding a stoney rock
alien shape, disfigured.
Just like him this stone was,
like a reflection in nature
turning it left and right, flipping it,
no one understood him, no one understood
this rock in the middle of a fish tank.
It had no purpose, only lumpy and cold,
Dry and old.
He shook hands with it, a reminder:
Every day of what he was.
An alien rock, cursed by chance,
ugly in nature, lovely this rock was
like a baby he cupped his fingers
putting the stone back softly.
He waited for the heart jump settling,
never did he hear it.

15

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

16

(UN)MUTE

GRIEF
Jamal Abdullah
Red sea of anger, remorse,
phased out with vision
of unclear certainty.
Eyeballs dug into the ground
with brown rusty spears
torture.
Handful of aqueous humour spread around my Mums grave.
white bones cut up in slices, small faces, pages of books
thighbone sharpened into a feather pencil
old fashioned eloquently dipped into a red
ink of a childs

blood

in a pot of pleasure

Smiles are my worst enemies

Among a smile is
a thousand tears

KNOW YOUR PLACE

Vanessa Joshua
Know your place shadows dont know
the smell of sounds
whisper lies in your ears
sweet as the play that you act
The void that possesses you will never fill
Lights are not lights until darkness is real
The lights shimmer but do not glow
It only makes sense
you dont know your place

17

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SUICIDE

Vanessa Joshua
Barefoot, free
Soon I will be,
A long beautiful gown
the love it represents cannot be found,
she knocks at the door,
the shame, the guilt I cannot take no more
he lays on the floor
peaceful
soon we will sleep together again
It glistens
she knocks at the door
my saviour
I grab it
my beautiful saviour
red, brown, silver
The most beautiful suicide

18

(UN)MUTE

A TALE OF TWO HOMES

Razia Labiba
Deep in the slums, in a broken house
A boy names Razu
Ironed his smile. Back onto his mouth
Eight-years-old, slicked his hair, washed his face
Then his mum shrugged like the words had a
bitter taste
Why are you getting ready for school?
We dont even have enough money for food.
He sat silently cried
All he wanted was an education
But he was denied
Across the town there is a Palace
Made by ceramics, diamonds
lived in by a boy called Labu
Sat in the corner
Staring in the mirror
Eight-years-old, softly water flowing through his cheeks
Then his Mum threw a stick
Why are you not getting ready for school?
You have to do what I said
They stand silently crying
All he wanted was a relaxing day
But he was denied.
Keno AI Different life we have
Why Why Amra Afa Korte Parina?
19

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

STALKING
Kristina Terech
Young and tall, basketball
Giggling echo, clear and loud
No ones here, except friends
they laugh, dont know what about
I remember being that age
Being the voice in the hall, the ghoul in the wall
And theyre gone
Sex in college is on the agenda
Yet can they comprehend
I can hear them at all?
Im the only ghost here now
It gets lonely sometimes
Drum beat, badum pow
Maybe not so alone
I could follow them home

20

(UN)MUTE

TIGERS IN CHAINS
Samirah Shaikh
Once a ruler, a king, a leader
Now a salve, a servant, a healer
Once a life of screams and sirens
Now a life of peace. Of silence.
A circling cage filled with tigers wearing chains
Breaking the hidden cycle
A back-street miracle
Once a killer
Now a saviour
Changing the world for the better.

21

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

THE KEYS
Kristina Terech
Two immense periwinkle fixed orbits
To whatever the mind transfixed on
Oh, those beautiful spectacles
And her beautiful mind filled with exhibits
Illuminating even the most horrible natural darkness with her thoughts
Her journey in the reality of human nature
Had only just begun
Heritage tan skin, from the skins of her ancestors lives
Pink-framed glasses that in childhood were there
When he wasnt yet, just as he wasnt now here
Tears rolling, down her sweet baby cheeks falling
And that mind decided to run away on rewind
She wanted to be out of here this time
To where she was just the curious spirited girl ghost
Dressed in pink, white and her blue jeans
That she knew came from the drawer of the flat
where she lived with her loving father and her aunt
who helped her buy the clothes, the hair, the face
That now wishes she was back in the museum halls, where the only race
was the one to the gift shop stall
Her room a sanctuary full of butterfly wings, caterpillar legs
Boxes of bugs, cases of books
Where she was only her mind, not her looks
Where she now would come back with her own new boxes
Now without her own boyfriend, on her own streets
She didnt just own herself, her mind, her sheets, she didnt let him own her defeat
which she owns, now also owns her silence, after dropping her museum key chain,
and her keys

22

(UN)MUTE

AND BEAUTIFUL THINGS FLY BY

Kristina Terech
Claire, Jane, Joy - no name, now just a label, a font stencil frame
Well her names Sam - please know her name - shes presented the same
Morning, early dawn and shes perched - limbs, arms, back drawn
Her ribcage not a picture but the prison holding back the air that fills her lungs
Her bones, hollow because he has wings - they label lash her body with burning
tongues
Her air of still nothing except a flame lit past, a wave put to rest
She is like a forest branch, nymph willow that walks brushing by willow stalks
Turns to ashes in her mouth from the heat, the hate
She has towards herself, the cafe thats too cramped but sits in her
Made for the birds she tattooed on her wrists - caging her wits within
She was once a white horse, water spirit, now gone lame
Its not just knives and nets thought up that hold her in
It was her once own body, wearing thin
Chest - now a closed cave that closed the tides closing in
Ruined pace, heart and legs race, burning of the last
what she was as waste, flooding, dipping down below her waist
White out, she collapsed on the floor, lay but not dead
This was not her end
The air came back into her wings and they pounded blood through her chest
Past the ribcage, self-hate, even every backhanded compliment from every age
She came back into conscience - the conscience that may be - she was more than
her weight
She could run calm, swim steady, fly again - change fate
For a bird can fly if healed and its not too late

23

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

THE CHORE
Kristina Terech
You know whats a chore?
Having to do as youre told
Having to act like a bore while having to stand out
You have to impress, you have to be bold
Sit straight, hold your pen
Learn to think others thoughts
Learn to follow their strings
Its only you thats the loot
Thinking in ones and noughts
Why should people have goals
Because goals start as dreams
Those dont come with instructions
Only if youre white and rich, it seems
You see, its not that simple
The rest of us, have to figure them out
We have perfectly good brains
But thats not what its about

24

(UN)MUTE

Maybe I was like them

I wouldnt complain
But if it was for everyone
If you think about it
We all probably would gain
Its just slightly annoying
That at birth, some get handed all their rights
Not just freedom, and speech and legal
But the kind us peasants realised we have when its 3am at night
You can think others thoughts
Write them, draw them, reconsider them
You can agree, disagree, argue
They all had brains just like you
I guess what Im trying to say is
Dont be scared, start in private even at first
You dont have to be rich or a scholar to think
To be materially poor and to think
Youre more blessed than you are cursed

25

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

SMOKE SIGNALS
Priscilla Manual
Concrete jungle becoming of steel
Children running they dont know whats real
The boy stops and stares at his home
Inside his house, his mother alone
Sitting on the couch and drinking her past away
Fag in her hand next to the ashtray
Shes zoning out, shes sleeping away
Her sense gone, unaware of her decision to stay
The cigarette is on the floor creating a hole full of smoke
The fire starts with a silent roar
Her hand pushes the bottle straight to the floor
A trail of Russian spirit meets the fire
Around the curtains and the electrical wire
And thats the day that boy became a good liar.

FRONT LINES
Samirah Shaikh and Kat Lewis
There is a war out there
A quaking red river
Within the eyes
Bashing brain, stretching skull
To slash the past
On the other side
A front line between myself and I
With enemy advancing.

26

(UN)MUTE

27

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

28

(UN)MUTE

THE WATCH
Kat Lewis
This is time
I see your face
And put my arrows
On your marks
Your world is like a wrist
You march around
On orbit
Chasing minutes
I am the sun
You feel on your arms
At times
You take your top off
Tick. Tock.
My love
Quick, or Ill catch you
To keep my time.

29

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

GOOD BYE MY LOVE

Razia Labiba
Good bye my love
I dont want to leave you I have to
I remember you: your voice
I feel you when I close my eyes
I remember nice green smiley face of fields,
those rickshaw which carried me to school
those broken streets; I used to hate you
I miss you
those people abhi meri ankho me hai as film
my friends (where we used to chat)
Do you miss me?
Me roh yei ti I cried to stay with you
but I had no choice
I want to touch you again,
want to feel you again,
want to play in the shiny sunflower days again
Good bye my love
Good bye BANGLADESH

30

(UN)MUTE

DAVID OF THE LILY FIELDS

Javaid Miah and Kristina Terech
Theres a war out there, Sir
Squabbling through the air
With perfectly shaped union striped arrows
Flying into my blood-stained hair.
Well its not really blood or else Id probably be dead - its dye
Smearing, blistering odour, Im bluffing
Disguised by caked on Lynx and fake tan
Postures slowly, The David of the Lily Fields
Stares right at me his elitist gaze (he thinks)
The scum will die unappeased.
FYI, Im the scum the bacteria under his loafer
Twisting his ankle, bruised, broken
After Ive risen, and grabbed it with my filthy, immune monster claws
Let me show you my gratitude token
Im the drainage, the sewage, the liquid unbroken.
Youll see soon.

31

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

SWAN SONG
Georgia Standen
My name is a siren
Like a police car, my eyes flash blue
My laughter is peroxide
Bleaching my hair white when I hear the word, faggot!
My cigarette butts
Smashed into sidewalks
Men pay me with bruises
But Ive got no change
My skin is tight latex
Over fractured bones and heartache
My mother wont come to the hospital
When she hears her son is hurt.
My walk is clatter of limps
From kicks Ive yet to have
My name is a siren
My name is Scarlette Siren.
Only for you - Razia

32

(UN)MUTE

I sacrifice my life only for you,

A red rose is gifted straight from my heart.
My love for you is the greatest and true,
To me you are the beauty of my art.
Oh! My angel you help me line my life,
I thank my lord for making you my love.
Losing you is a stabbing with a knife,
And my love, most precious gift from above.
Love with patience, nothing impossible,
When youre with me I can do everything.
My angel, you are my lucky purple,
you are my angel, I am your wing.
You are my only love and my smile,

33

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

PIG IRON
Georgia Standen
A siren reeks
But does not wake me:
A boot does.
It is raining
Hard words and insults under the bus stop glass
He grabs me by my zipped coat
When he realises Im a girl.
My eyes are doused fire.
He does not kiss me
Im too dirty
A rat that gnawed street pizza
Got tomato sauce on my lips
From the palm of his slap.
He fumbles with my blanket
My stink layers
And reaches for that place
I screech like an urchin
And a slap pierces again
A homeless whore
I am taken, lost on the streets
I write it in my diary
With a pen I used at school
The third time this month.

A siren reeks and stops.

and I run
I run.

34

(UN)MUTE

DUALISM
Enfys Walker
I found my mother tongue
After flailing frantically for ten minutes
Beneath my bed
Where it had flows
As I slept
For who needs words
When one can dream Where colours dance in sparkling streams
Where a boy can take you where you please
Where you are alone And I emerge, panting
Mouths making choked words
As I try to call out
The world coloured by panic
Before I find it
The chains under my bed
My mother tongue.

35

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

A PHOTOGRAPH OF BODY BAGS

AFTER THE SYRIAN GAS ATTACKS
Enfys Walker
Cocoons. Concealing precious content
Side by side, almost touching
But quite connecting
Inside. Nails grow. Breath exhaled
But these strange fruit are stiffening
Gas released, tear ducts glistening
Bereft. Of that most important soul.
For no emergence lies ahead
Long live the queen. Long live the dead.

NEWS BROADCAST
Georgia Standen and Vanessa Joshua
Theres a war out there, there are bombs splintering everywhere
Take cover or get splattered, Americans are trying to suck out our freedom, our right
to government. With napalm, rape and orange theft they shoot us down one by one,
women, children, dogs. They are dogs. With their manufactured guns they came
into our peasant country and rupture the spirits of our ancestors, but we fight them
in OUR forests, OUR swamps and OUR huts. We rise them up and let them swing
with their flags. You cannot come here and strip us of our dignity. You cannot come
here and force us, force the barrel of our guns into our cheeks. We will fight you with
our bare hands if we need to we will not go down easily, but you will go down hard.
We are neither communist or capitalist. We are Vietnamese and no longer will you
numb our country, our politics, our people. our land, our bodies. They are ours and
ours alone

36

(UN)MUTE

37

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

LIPSTICK GRAFFITI
Enfys Walker
His eyes stamped with the Queens smile
His voice an emergency dial
His gums receding, blue snap back on his head
Brought up in a room with a Barbie bed
His cheeks, sharp, sharp knives
Which cut both ends
But always gets him dividends
Tobacco stains behind pink lips
That snap shut to give his girlfriend a kiss
Lipstick graffiti: the colour of shame
Trapped in silence. His bodys to blame.

DNA
Gideon
How do you define a temple?
Each brick, each grain has its place
With each stroke of a brush you create art
With each string of fabric, a cloth
From all the rings of a tree trunk
Time
Experience a chapter just like a book you flicker through
The birth of experience.
Look at the tree; a mark is not a mark
Call the skin a map
As you navigate through this terrain, a mark is not a mark
Rings of experience
The ink engraved to direct you to me
Im a singing chair. Yes, Im a singing chair.

38

(UN)MUTE

THE UNKNOWN STREET SOLDIER

Javaid Miah
His face had a scar like a ripped paper edge
His teeth were the headlights in the dark
His hair a wasted lawn
His laugh a head hitting concrete
His walk a metronome
His walk, a Pandoras box.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Georgia Standen
I was raised by
A withered hand
A shattered womb
By broken hair brushes
And soft, stinging sentences
That harboured expectations
And comparisons top brother
You werent a good mother.
Not really.
I was raised by a beard
A smile
And a calloused hand that was softer
Than any goose feathers
He had a belly filled with rumbles
Earthquakes
That slowly killed him.

39

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

THE PEARL
Samirah Shaikh
She is a girl
Protected by the power of Allah
As if she were a beautiful pearl
Covered from head to toe
Following her duty with free will.
She chose the Niqaab
A plain black cloth
A protective barrier against the eyes of men
A barrier against this corrupt world.
But this corrupt worlds could not see through her eye
Girls pulled away her protection
Rip open her Niqaab
To reveal a beautiful pearl
What did they expect?
A clone? An evil spirit? The devil?
Imagine having your clothes pulled off
Without your consent
Imagine losing a pearl
That breaks from the chain and falls toward the gutter.
She bowed to Allah
And made Duuer
For all the other girls
Prayed that protection
Walked with them forever.

40

(UN)MUTE

41

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

LIFE STORY
Samirah Shaikh
I was raised by bright flowers
Two bright suns
Lighting my path
Following sweet smells of joy
A soft breeze gently pushing me forward
Causing me to rise
Helping to show the world
Another beautiful flower.

TRAPPED IN A SHELL
Samirah Shaikh
My broken family is trapped in a journal
There on my half-broken bed
In a room full of emptiness
An echoing silence.
I go down the stairs of my little tree hut
My small feet land on cracking leaves and shrubs
Behind me
Two graves: mother and father
Between them a shell
Trapped inside, a thousand nightmares.
Broken families tumble And I am only 10 And covered in scars
From loving what I have lost.
I hold the shell to my ear
and hear
two gun shots.

42

(UN)MUTE

YOUR AVERAGE WHITE COLLAR, 9-5

Kristina Terech
Take off the back-problem inducing
Stress-heightening, attention-reducing
Take off the His
Put on the Hers
With a swish of the wand
Let out the inside.
Lifted her powder magic wand
The mythical glazing flame
She glides across her arms, her chest
Around her face, cheekbones
That hold up her proud throne.
There, above, her crown
That fine spun gold thread upon her head
That lines the eyes cold blue
The same she feels around her thighs
When she walks outside, when she passes mocking smiles
Clicking heels on rocks studs like those on her mind
Marches to her own drum
Its her debut the first time
The heightened sensation she feels with her mirrors
Those beneath her thrones bows, and all lined with lights
Just like in the dressing room.
Just like in her mind.
Shes happy, so dont mind
Reflecting glittery pink-red shine
How deep does beauty really sink?
Her mind, her body, her shrine.

43

An English PEN book / READERS & WRITERS

44

(UN)MUTE

SWEAR ON YOUR LIFE

Javaid Miah
You will go to hell, you will go to hell
Grins the sheep, thorny and barking.
He stands there, feeling their spit
Milk lumps running down him
Questioning, thinking Smack smack went the Imam
Pliers, grabbing his hand, breaking it on the Quran
SWEAR TO ALLAH YOU WILL NOT LOOK THAT WAY!
He swore to God that he would never dream that way.
When he was 17 he powdered childhood promises
Caught like an ice block bird, his eyes upon
A person, muscular, leonine, love Spit. Spit. Questioning broken bruising swollen skin God knows what is natural and what is not He moaned while the angels whipped him
Beating out the desire; but nothing came out
The whip like a snake bite pulling his gown to the ground
He did not understand.
Hopeless, he closed that book, slowly, reluctantly
Leafing the pages. Shut.
What is natural is what is him
What is unnatural is what is not him.
He lives.

45

(UN)MUTE
From Readers & Writers the literature education programme of English PEN
Edited by Joelle Taylor and Kat Lewis
English PEN is one of the UKs leading literature and free speech charities, based
at the innovative Free Word Centre in Farringdon, London.
We promote the freedom to write and the freedom to read. The founding centre
of a worldwide writers association established in 1921, we are supported by our
active membership of leading writers and literary professionals with an elected Board.
Our education programme develops the writing of prisoners, detainees, refugees,
asylum-seekers and other socially excluded groups. We also run a full programme
of public events and award prizes to outstanding British and international writers.
Special thanks to Joelle Taylor, Kat Lewis, Steven Kern, Georgia Standen,
Eddie Playfair and everyone at Newham 6th Form College.
Support the work of English PEN
find out more at www.englishpen.org

English PEN is a company limited by guarantee, number 5747142,

and a registered charity, number 1125610.