My father came to this country in 1952
Worked like a dog, swept the floor, other jobs
The white boys turned their noses up at
Paid half the money, twenty men sharing a house
Sending money back home — work, sleep, work
Built this country — damp, foggy, miserable
No roads, no cars, no shopping centres, no Empire;
By the time he was old this was a different land
He helped to build this country, but got no credit for it
When he died he was still a Paki.
I came to this country, a young boy, in 1966
Educated here, went to work, raised a family
Read, write, speak, understand English better than …
Taught to walk the straight and narrow
Do the right thing, in my father’s footsteps …
But I am still a Paki.
My son was born here, English to the bone
A beautiful young man, the apple of my eye
Intelligent, athletic, loving, respectful
I may be biased, but none can come close
But he is still a Paki.
One day he will have a child
He will pass on the lessons I taught
The wisdom of Ages I learned from my father
Work hard, be good, think of others, smile
Whatever he does, he will be
A Paki still.
(c) Satori Publishing, 2015.
Satori Publishing 