By Aarti Narayan
When you came home for afternoon tea
You grumbled about my country’s poverty
Tiny, outstretched hands – so hopeless and hungry
Turned your stomach and made you queasy.
But you never gave two hoots
For our years of famine, plunder and loot
An entire country dragged in the mire
Because, old chap, you wanted an Empire.
Europe was liberated by your armies
You took pride in defeating the Nazis
But did your conscience never quail
At the wretched souls buried in our jails?
You boasted of abolishing slavery
Yet failed to notice the irony
Of bonded labour toiling in our fields
Yoked to the plough just like beasts.
When you thought Scotland might break away
You rose up as one in righteous dismay
But my land was ripped apart, left bereft
A bloody Partition was your farewell gift
It seems you ‘just can’t be arsed’
To face the demons of your bloody past
But must you rub salt in our wounds
Each time you flaunt the stolen Koh-i-noor?
Should I blame you, old chap, or the powers-that-be
For this reluctance to face your history
If Hiroshima and the Holocaust can be remembered
Surely, Great Britain, you can do better?