My van my grief
Was I travelling in my personal caravan?!–
That I thought I would paint it yellow and tan!
That I thought I would rail out to my way!
That I thought I would unbelt my class in clay!
I've got a wheel in the obscure
That I lost the realms of my hegemonies to unsure!
That I carried the remains of my clan
To a crisis where I never know a plan!
My journey has never been the same
That I could dignify my efforts to claim
The austerity of a road map in the forth
That I'm afraid my move accumulates no worth!
I tried to be renamed in the middle
But my van and I have never been apart!
The colour of the paint has never bothered us at all
But I invented myself belted in the outskirt!
My caravan has been derailed in a juncture
That I failed to station my feet as I moulded
That I couldn't canvas my long-aspired nature
That I was whispered in scream and scolded!
Was I hauled out to a stretcher or into a locked van?!–
That I thought I would never be caged for a dream
That I learned my sky would always remain free of ban!
That I would cherish for being one in the mainstream
I thought I would fly to bring my sky down on earth
I moaned to cry in despair to level my grief
That I soaked my thirst in tears to boot in moral chief!
Now that my van has been stolen, I feel no warmth!
Niaz Shahidi is a Bengali poet of the 1990s-2000s and is now based in Toronto, Canada.