Britannia

You sit on your throne

Arm rested with gold

Pearl necklaces

Carried by blood diamond

Mould

Algae forms

Your pristine skin

That was once marble

I see your tears thin

Even if you look up

You fear

The olive-skinned Prophets you airbrushed

Come on, dear

Stop using our Prophets for profit

Or using our kids

To carve you a seven-foot state

Statue based on hate

Race

Don’t lie to my face

I thought you were all spiritual, calm and that

You gave them yoga

Namaste and mats

I know what you did to Manu

You hid her under the covers

Doing it for the numbers

5 Nobel Peace Prizes

We know your secret lovers

I don’t see peace when you kicked my sister out

Out of the house

She’s shipped to another land

Because you couldn’t be bothered to fully plan

Sipping your chai acting like the big man

You’re just like them

Mountbatten and her

Dressed in rich robes

Fake jewels

Broken souls

By Amina Beg