Land Still Holds by Belinda Zhawi

                   i

The face of this place stays forever changing
         how to stay the same
         This town where days never mirror each other.
         You walk its streets at all hours as you both wait
         for the sun’s direction & the premonition
                    of a crescent moon because

This town is your        father; this town is your       mother
         This town is a snake disguised as a scorpion —
         it’s a cemetery next to an old church full of cobwebs
         This town is seven separate experiences all at once

                   ii

You always dance from the back
                    to feel the music in your chest.
                    Eyes closed & head full of mumbles –
          You pray to be loved for more than a night
                    In that junction of prayer,       drum      bass
                    You dance
                      inner & outer self because your body knows
                      these rhythms       from a past life      centuries ago

                                  From all those dancehall nights
                                  at Club N*Tyce – praise be to fake IDs
                                  to the grainy sounds of phone speakers
                                  against top deck bus windows —
                  praise be the 177 472      161     53       N1

                    iii

Wind came round last night & blew all the leaves
from the trees. Now they stand bare
in the middle of the green. Naked & still.
The wind came round last night
& made red sunsets that turned
into indigo skies.         In these dregs
of SE London,             in the hour before dawn,
where the silence is home.

                    iv

                              Tower blocks
                              as symbols of
                              height. Of growth
                              Tower blocks as
                              the navigation
                              points in the stormy
                              foggy weather. They
                              need for you to know
                              that the land still stands
                              That this land still holds

                    v

           Smell of ganj in the air, taste of bud everywhere,
           the smell of herbs in your hair. You are from this place
           though it’s not your only home.
In the dregs of South East London
           where that small hour before dawn;
           the silence feels
           like home unlike those distant multi-coloured lights
           that blink in code. Or those blue flashes
in the distance
           Traffic gushes the sounds of a fast river
           as it flows into the night.

           As the the town flows into the city
           as it flows into the night.

Land Holds Still is an original piece commissioned by Poet in the City as part of Run the Night. Written and performed by Belinda Zhawi, who experiments with text and audio under the name MA.MOYO, this poem is a stripped-back reflection of Belinda’s time growing up in Woolwich, Thamesmead and the wider landscape of South-East London. With sound design and production by audio producer and multidisciplinary artist Weyland McKenzie-Witter, Land Holds Still invites readers and listeners to reflect on how we relate to our cities after dark.

Belinda says:
“My aim was to create an evocative text that explored the intricate relationship between land and human existence within a city context. My approach to developing Land Still Holds was guided by the intention to encapsulate the raw essence and untamed spirit of the night. The piece aimed to explore the nocturnal mysteries that lay hidden within the land. I hope it serves as a reminder that the night, much like the land itself, holds its own stories, secrets, and enchantments.” – Belinda Zhawi