Malawi- My Home

Though I’ve never left my beautiful country I could never imagine doing so. It’s  society so unique to others. And despite its need for reform I have all the hope in the world that our people will get there. One day with the hearts of mighty lions.

Cliché I know. But it’s one of my many dreams.

Nothing in the world compares to my home Malawi.




Ashes scattered.
Bones picked clean.
Rotting flesh, infested
Maggots flies fungi
Gives way to
Unrecoverable remains
Dry abandoned fragments
Morbid reminder of
Your dreams futility
And life’s fragility
Unmoving, unchanging, unyielding


I fell in love with the sky today.
Its endless expanse
Yet not dauntingly so.

Among the clouds I fell in love with the sky.
Cushioned between pink and blue fluff
This firmament separated from firmament,
Divinely so
Humbled my humanity
Hilighted my mortality.

As I descended back to my universe,
To the pulsing vessels of streets,
I could breathe with a satisfied sigh

Reminded yet again
Of why I
Am in love with the sky.

Skin on Skin

Skin on skin
He grazed my mind
And with the easy subtilty
of his sentences

Lazy and tired,

excited and subdued

Push and pull
He pours
In to my sea
Of memories
Of joy
Of regret
Of sweet sorrow.

Skin on skin

With his dazzling smile,
Ever teasing.
Ever pleasing.

Til dawn broke and dashed
And reality crashed

~For Daniel

Who Am I?

Who am I really?
Where is my home? Here? There?
Is that all we are?


I am blades of grass. A flower. That will bloom and shine and wither and decay.

I am dust. Piled then blown away grain by grain by grain. Scratching against the eternal.

I am sand to be built shaped and moulded then washed away by the tides come twi.

I am all countries yet none.

I am just beginning yet done.

Sports Day

Sports Day


The race was about to begin.

Gathering all the courage I had left, I bounced down the stadium steps and stepped on to the fire red track.

Picture the scene: Diamond blue skies, clear as an empty ocean and not the faintest cloud in sight; the sun danced and shimmered like a gold medallion directly overhead. It’s warn rays touch down on the oval stadium at which the whole school stood upon.

Sports Day. Nearly a thousand kids from the school were taking part. Everyone was dressed in the uniform white PE top and black shorts. For many it would be the best day of the school year. For others the worst.

My social life depended on this one race. Readjusting my ponytail, I looked back to my form class on the bleachers. All the girls stared at me with stony expressions on their faces. They stood, arms crossed, still as statues as if to say, “You better win. Or else.”

I swallowed hard and looked back at the track.

This is what I had been training for; for this one race. This was it. My chance to prove I had star quality in me and that I wasn’t the poor little runt of the class. I needed to win this and I was so sure it would only get worse with them if I lost. This was it. My first sports day in High school was going to be my last day being labelled as a talentless loser.

Taking my position on the starting line in lane 4, I took a last glance back to the bleachers. Hundreds of kids all around me, cheering wildly. The sun shone on their faces, illuminating each unique expression.

“On your marks”

I raised my back leg, my eyes focused on the track.

“Get Set,”

The cheers of the crowd seemed to fade as time slowed, everything so surreal.


The real world came crashing back as I took off. Every technique and teaching point from training was put into action. I ran. And for the first time in a while I didn’t care what was happening around me and I lost all self consciousness. I ran for me, myself and I. My heart pumping, my trainers thumping across the finish line I doubled over. Screeching cheers from my peers surrounded me. My whole body was hot and flushed.

Slowly, with hope and pride, I raised my head to the platform where my form had watched my race.

This was it…

Evening Manchester


Evening Manchester


You would think a new year means a new start. A new Manchester. As I pull up my hood of my favourite winter coat, I tread through the grey mucky streets.

Men, women and children wander the town, wrapped up in layers and layers of clothes. Their faces; blank and expressionless except for the slight smile at a not very funny joke.

As I stop walking I sense rather than notice the atmosphere of expectancy. We are all waiting. The air is heavily damp with the dank stench of fresh acidic rain and decomposing litter. I stand on the edge of the curb.

I turn my head right just as a double decker bus whizzes past me, spraying my face with muddy puddle water. The stop at which I stand at is full of all kinds of people; sophisticated business women in suits, chunky builders in blue overalls, teenage girls in super short school skirts and even the most elderly of couples.

And as the last person jumps off the bus we all begin forming a sloppy line to get on. I flash my ticket at the driver and find a seat. A faint scent of a spicy perfume hangs in the air and all I can hear is the chatter of people and passing traffic followed by the soft pitter patter of rain.

I look outside the grimy window taking in the bright lights of evening Manchester. As I settle into my seat, I say a silent good-bye to the town I grew up in, one of my many homes.

Until next time.



Written in Year 8/9 (2010-2011)