What Ethnicity Are You?
Maryam Bham
‘What ethnicity are you?’ they enquire,
As if one label could truly inspire
The depth of my culture, the richness within,
The layers of history submerged beneath my skin.
British born and bred, yet that is just a thread,
Randeri my identity, where my heart is led.
The lineage and traditions Iraqi, with stories untold,
My food Indian, Burmese and Portuguese, the flavours oh so bold.
A heritage unique, vibrant and grand,
A culture moulded by my ancestors’ hand.
What does that make me? A question profound,
My lineage paints the canvas upon where my roots are found.
They burned our libraries, to erase our name,
To strip our past, and cloak us in shame.
They silence our tongues, our words restrained,
Our voices suppressed, our identities tamed.
But I am a product of migration and trade,
of knowledge from Kufa, wisdom conveyed.
With silver-threaded kachap, I proudly stand,
A symbol of heritage, crafted by skilled demand.
Through wars and struggles, my elders paved their way,
To Britain, where they persevered each day.
In flames and ashes, we rise and stand tall.
Their efforts, etched in my soul; their sacrifices shaping my whole.
So ask not which box I fit into neatly,
Nor what you assume, nor what you see fleetly.
I transcend labels, I am beyond any script,
I am a product of resilience, colonial shackles I clip.
Instead pause and ponder deeply, why this urge to confine?
What fear or need compels you to draw such rigid lines?
Imagine a future where boundaries are redefined,
Where openness and freedom let our worlds intertwine.
For the essence of my being is diverse and strong,
A mosaic of cultures, where I belong.
I am the sum of life, the love my elders gave,
A testament to the spirited, the bold, the brave.
As if one label could truly inspire
The depth of my culture, the richness within,
The layers of history submerged beneath my skin.
British born and bred, yet that is just a thread,
Randeri my identity, where my heart is led.
The lineage and traditions Iraqi, with stories untold,
My food Indian, Burmese and Portuguese, the flavours oh so bold.
A heritage unique, vibrant and grand,
A culture moulded by my ancestors’ hand.
What does that make me? A question profound,
My lineage paints the canvas upon where my roots are found.
They burned our libraries, to erase our name,
To strip our past, and cloak us in shame.
They silence our tongues, our words restrained,
Our voices suppressed, our identities tamed.
But I am a product of migration and trade,
of knowledge from Kufa, wisdom conveyed.
With silver-threaded kachap, I proudly stand,
A symbol of heritage, crafted by skilled demand.
Through wars and struggles, my elders paved their way,
To Britain, where they persevered each day.
In flames and ashes, we rise and stand tall.
Their efforts, etched in my soul; their sacrifices shaping my whole.
So ask not which box I fit into neatly,
Nor what you assume, nor what you see fleetly.
I transcend labels, I am beyond any script,
I am a product of resilience, colonial shackles I clip.
Instead pause and ponder deeply, why this urge to confine?
What fear or need compels you to draw such rigid lines?
Imagine a future where boundaries are redefined,
Where openness and freedom let our worlds intertwine.
For the essence of my being is diverse and strong,
A mosaic of cultures, where I belong.
I am the sum of life, the love my elders gave,
A testament to the spirited, the bold, the brave.
Maryam Bham is a PhD student at the University of Cambridge. Her research focuses on the experiences of Muslim teachers in England. With a rich academic background and a passion for art and poetry, she uses her creative voice to discuss her own experiences of racism and champion decolonial perspectives within education.
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