red gol an green
A thin layer of stick on the streets
I was born n raised a carni pickney
been skankin since I was 3

To some
 jus a day retreat
for us
means history
for me a family affair
to which I am di heir

My grandparents would sway to
Lovers Rock
(Friends of Janet Kay may I flex)
My auntie Esther would paint faces to all whom she graces on those Notting hill steps
but Mi Momma a raver -
 (you can really find proof in the papers)
a carni solja like no other
Memories of her selling Jell-O shots outside uncle Herons gaff pregnant with my baby brother.

I grew up on Tavistock Road
 (Home of mi fada)
blue placards of Claudia Jones & Leslie Palmer
I spoke once to Leslie -
of the Riots & stop search discriminations
And thought
“why always the carnival drama?”
So much more violence tied into football hooliganism
yet gave the blind eye during the pandemic
Cuz we could appreciate how far a Jamaican boy from Brent could make an Englishman feel patriotic.

And yes Carni started from protest
 (like pride)
But to choke it just makes for more chaotic

So I say “Chill Mista Guv’na
Don’t be a fighter, be a Lover
And vibe to a steel pan drummer.”

And he may listen or yet -
They may choose to forget
But on this land we WILL celebrate our home…
As we pass the torch to our roots,
From my string vest down to my boots -
A whole generation
Di heir of Ladbroke Grove.