Chris Taylor

Dear Britain

Dear Britain
The sun set on your Empire
Half a century ago
Britannia does not rule the waves
We are no-longer “Great”
And we have never been United.

I see this makes you scared
That decline from grace
is hard to handle
But the Land of Hope and Glory
Was always a mirage
Built on the Blood of Empire
The Bones of Slavery
The rotting flesh
of White Supremacy.

Dear Britain
In case you missed it:
We have always been
A mongrel race
A soup of Angles and Jutes
Saxons, Danes and Picts.
Our language and place names
Peppered with the debris
Of one invading wave upon another.
Yorkshire Puddings –
they’re French
Our monarchy –
Half German
Our national dish –

Dear Britain
Just to be clear:
Boris Johnson is not
King Arthur
Nigel Farage is not
Sir Galahad
And you are not
A damsel in distress.
This obsessive search
For the next white knight
Is the only thing
Between you and
Taking your destiny back.
Replacing one failed Dandy
With the next
Is doffing your cap
To the Toff in the street.

Dear Britain
In case you’re forgotten:
This Land is still Green and Pleasant
Its soil as rich as our hearts
Its summers as kind
As our smiles
It’s autumns so full
There is enough to share.
These things shape
Who we have become –
We warm our hearth for a stranger
We root for the under-dog
Extend a hand
To a soul in need.
We love travel and food
And chatting over fences
Learning new things
from far off places.

Dear Britain
Your home is not a castle
It does not have a draw-bridge
It does have a gorgeous view
Of the outside world.
Fling open the door
Sing your heart out
And put the kettle on for anyone
Who comes your way.

The son of an immigrant.