Seven Tankas of my arrival…

(Inspired by The daily post weekly writing challenge Full Tanka)

The year I was born,images

The miners had gone on strike,

From womb I was torn,

White room full of white strangers,

Privacy comodified.

 

Nineteen eighty four,

Coal coated the streets in blood,

The filth’s sent to war,

Men cried at the picket line,

police held hands to stop them.

 

Martyr lay sleeping,

A blissful induced coma,

Spawn’s lonely weeping,

Mother’s greatest sacrifice,

in the sharp end of a knife.

 

The year of my birth,

Horn of Africa near lost,

Starv’d babes of less’r worth,

Ethiopia famine

Filling TV screens with tears.

 

They marvelled at me,

And my peculiar health,

Life a sight to see,

While mother came close to death,

‘With child’ did not suit her well.

 

Mrs Thatcher’s height,

Unstable business prospers,

Triumph of the right,

England an uneven mess,

Covered in high rising damp.

 

I go back to then,

And look at my fresh pink skin,

Aunties clucking like hen,

Joyous forest of new life,

Ocean in my eyes born blue.

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