An open poem to...

…our American masters

Chalk Circle

If you loved me

you wouldn’t pull.

If you believed in it,

you wouldn’t come. -

You’d stay.

If you weren’t playing a game,

you’d try to understand

who I am, rather than tell me

who you are…again.

If you were men of substance,

you wouldn’t write-off our success

with conditional promises in the press

and side-shows on the rolling heads

of giants, upon whose shoulders you tread.

You talk about ownership,

as if the twelfth man didn’t exist.

Like you could buy me for a fistful of Koppers,

when history proves I gave for nothing;

us with empty coffers and coloured banners,

generations of flame-chasers, chanters and Scousers.

I’ll only wait for so long you know,

before I walk: walk on, walk on.

Knowing if you loved you wouldn’t pull.

Knowing I will not be unsung or undone

nor drawn, rather draw you a chalk circle

upon my Anfield of dreams and let you yank,

as I let go - The Liverpool Way, a non-negotiable.

- Cheyelle Omar



COPYRIGHT ©2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: CHEYELLE OMAR