Postcolonial Reader

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Ms. Burkhina Faso and me,
We’re having tea.
We got problems to discuss:
Delegates of our respective lands,
Transmitting mutual warmth through our hands.

No, I know that you are spotless,
Where her geographic spot lies along the wider Atlas:
“Most probably Africa”, or a “latitude south of Tahiti”,
If Tahiti makes sense, since Kiribathi
Is as far as the milk rice stretches.

Faso, your face tonight is an open book:
No woman at night looks the way you look.
I tell you how they threatened to take off
The face saving GSP+. We sneer
At the suggestion, between the two of us.

These are the petty trips the donor programmes
Give us, developing lands: a
10 week scholarship to a mirthless joint
And an evening tea with some 3rd rate writer
Who, to light up a smoke, borrows your lighter.

“I want to join the UN” and you
Smile through your tea. Well, perhaps I,
Then, should go join the UNP.
Guess we both have as equal a chance
To entertain a lap dance.

“Countries like ours need more youth representation”;
“And women” you add, after consideration.
Duckspeak is a word I learnt in 1984
And these are fond sentiments I have heard
Time and again all the more.

She wants to pay for my book,
Though I am not on her reading list.
I say no, no one buys these anyway,
I manage to lull her insist. But, then she says
She wants to pay for the tea. Well, that’s

A whole different cup
And that’s altogether quite alright by me.

2010-12-31

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One thought on “Postcolonial Reader

    Ashan said:
    January 5, 2011 at 5:23 am

    “And an evening tea with some 3rd rate writer
    Who, to light up a smoke, borrows your lighter”
    – i like these two lines..

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