The sun doesn't shine

The sun doesn't shine in London
The clouds are permanently set
So dull, so weary –
Her people march lazily in her shadow.
No sunrise, no sunset.

The clouds push down,
Unemployment rises, inflation rises.
Nobody smiles, eye contact is minimal, wrinkled faces distort.
A trail of smoke lingers from every hand with its mandatory cigarette,
While rain comes down and dampens our clothes and our spirits.

The hiyas, dyouknowwhadimeans, the youalrights?
The queues, the crisps, the chips, the pints, the stodgy food
No wonder they drink so much, smoke so much, eat so much, complain so much.
Her only hope, is to break through the grey,
And escape by plane to a cleaner, warmer salvation called Europe.

Apparently there were good days
Where the summers here were dry and long.
But the only summers I remember,
Are in the place where I come from.
And I ask myself this question, where do I belong?

By Amanda Home.