PEACE BECOMES A RARE COMMODITY

PEACE BECOMES A RARE COMMODITY Autumn is gently pushing it's way through the fog and the city lights bathe in majestic light. I have been awake all this time. I lay awake under the quilt of moonlit nights over my head. I lay awake when the pale sunlight gently peels my outer shell, watching over this city, as I watch over Svera. I have been on my guard all this time. I have to be awake. To watch. A house like me who has a ‘spirit’. The residues of a storm rattled the neon signs of cultural harmony in Bradford. Svera stood in front of this broad window. In the distance, smoke rose from the trouble torn area of Manningham. Her neighbour, Jane, had just parked her silver Porsche on the roadside. She waved at Svera who is lost in her thoughts, they carry her on their wingless shadows back to the distinct day in July when she found the list in Peter's pocket. A storm in the bath had shattered Svera’s belief in love. Peace became a rare commodity, both inside my walls and in this city. I could see with my own ‘stony’ eyes, Sir, that the peace between people had grown thinner and flat like a tire without air, like the layer of ashes, sooty and difficult to shake off. Social workers and defenders of ‘culture’ and of course the politicians who win votes on the promise of racial harmony had already started to play the game on the debris of these riots. Racism was a word people used and abused in order to achieve their own goals. This demon exists in every society, class and hierarchy in the world. On the name of racism, more resources were poured into projects to create ‘equal opportunities’, to ‘mobilise’ these ‘rowdy’ youths, to ‘bridge the gap’ and bla, bla, bla. Without getting emotional about the issue, we all know who makes the best out of these type of incidents, let’s glaze over some snippets of the ‘riots’.......... From my book, "Svera Jang."