Poetry by Anthony
When ends were short And long drives down bleak highways Restless and dusted Seemed to distort our reality We always remembered the pulses That sat nestled amongst spices many, In that cupboard Where tin cans and plastic bags Did hold our stomachs whole Until payday came and we forgot once more Why we gave thanks for dried sustenance, But sporadic banquets meant little When nourishment found new meaning As we celebrated nonetheless And mum brought out that heavenly spiced Pot of distilled childhood, A pot of dhaal, bursting with hope and gratitude.
Dedicated to Fatima Hassan & Areeba Bhajikhara x
Anthony (he/him) is a mixed-race poet & writer whose work tends to focus on social inequality throughout late-modern society. Anthony travels frequently and has spent most of his life in Kuwait jostling between the UK & America. Anthony's work has been published 120 times internationally. Anthony is the Co-Founder/EIC of Fahmidan Journal. Anthony has 1 published chapbook titled 'The Great Northern Journey'.
Twitter/Instagram: @anthony64120 https://arsalandywriter.com/