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Your Tale: Stephen Lawrence

REMEMBRANCE: The engraved stone set where Stephen's life was taken 19 years ago (photo: Bart Chan)

I AM fortunate to have such a talented sister. Recently when Tissie, who last year graduated from Goldsmith's College, University of London, in comparative English literature, told me she had written a poem about Stephen Lawrence, I immediately asked if I could read it.

It was "after listening to a radio interview with Stephen Lawrence’s mother", that Tissie felt moved to write the poem.

"I could only feel admiration and great respect for this woman’s strength", my sister says. "She told of how a couple found her son dying, and how they told this unknown, dying boy, 'you are loved'."

Her poem juxtaposes brutality with the compassion of Conor Taaffe and his wife Louise. "It is emotions such as these that are almost poems in themselves," Tissie believes.

"I can only hope that my attempt to express this in words, can go a slight way to honouring this act of love."

Bart Chan, Your Tale editor


Stephen Lawrence

Vibrations hung from her lips, and were urged
through the air by an unknown beater of blood.
Their entry point's force was a rival to holes
ripped agape by stainless steel,

where red gurgled 'murder',
yet he'd heard her urge of sounds, which formed an
embalm: "you are loved".
And "you are loved"

spilled as readily as blood gulping for air.
An exchange transacted between fluids,
liquid words ran and crashed against
red cascades.

Their entry point's force was a rival to holes
ripped agape by stainless steel,
now spilling readily as blood
gulping for air.

And her breath's finish hung
just a way from her lips,
yet closer than the end of his.
The last words heard vibrating, vibrating:

"You are loved".

REST IN PEACE: Well Hall Road, where Stephen waited for a bus home, but instead met his murderers (photo: Bart Chan)

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