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! 

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The once and future bedes & ‘Gypsies?

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!  

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Meursault rediscovered

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.