A Post Colonial Memoir

She is,

The honey that melts in the mid-summer heat,

and the nectar imported through the cold.

She is the crown that rests atop of her shoulders,


and poised,

like the curved cuts of her silken trousers,

and weighted

with the pearls that embellish her cotton shirt.

humming rhythmically


the boil on the remnants of Darjeeling

whilst fastening her trench like coat.

She is,

The gold welded through her ancestry,


overseas but grounded.

She is the tea that is brewed twice over.


–  A post-colonial memoir

Read more of my prose @auburnrhyme

As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated.


6 thoughts on “A Post Colonial Memoir

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