By M. Khela
I yearn, I yearn
the small simple things.
Sat with oil in my hair,
her hands gently braiding memories of love.
Sat as she painted my nails in vermilion red,
a colour as bold as our heritage.
But, the world lurked with judgment.
The eyes, stares, glares.
In fear, I abandoned all of it.
No punjabi, only english,
the voices silenced.
No gold, only silver,
the brilliance faded
No punjabi geets, only the radio.
the songs quietened.
All in hopes of acceptance.
Oh, how the facade is crumbling.
Now I want it all back.
More than ever.
I yearn for the oil, the warmth, the coconut scent.
I yearn for the radio, the familiar tunes, the bhangra melody.
I yearn for the jumke, the elegance, the beauty..
I yearn, I yearn,
to reclaim the threads of my heritage,
to celebrate each small, simple thing.
About the Author: Khela is a Punjabi Sikh Author. In their words: “I write about my feelings and experiences living in a small section of the South Asian Community and being in an even smaller sector of the British population. I like to make my audience reflect on their own experiences and delve into the celebration of their culture, no matter their race or ethnicity.”