We are not related.

We share a fragment of a name.


We are not related.

Our parents hail from the same country,


took different journeys

for their children to arrive at the same spot.


Our parents’ parents parents parents

were people


classified as things, possessions

(or ‘three-fifths’ human on a good day),


taken, under cover of night and sail,

dragged half way across the world,


decided they weren’t wanted

(cos they kicked up too much of a fuss),


dropped on a jungle,

mosquito-ridden plot of land,


told, ‘You are free.

Fend for yourself. Build your own Jerusalem.’




We are not related.

We share a journey,


an understanding, a dance,

a belief, a strength.


We call each other: uncles,

cousins, brothas, sistas.


We tell others

we are not related.




Lionz of East London