Brick after brick atop red dust roads,
who guard the secrets that they hold,
scattered about in chaotic order
of varied heights, planes and mortar.
In hidden alleys, I’ve run through sodded,
fleeing memories of long ago; haunted.
As I run up the steps of one Miss Brodie,
I think of my auld life and cherish neu me.
Brick after brick, which led me here,
which once was unfamiliar and unclear
is now known to me, part of my DNA:
I am hidden alleys and their stories.
The steeple rising up near the castle,
the sky as blue as boyish pastel,
this place in some ways has truly taken,
what once was lost and already breaking.
Clouds hang above the gabbled roofs,
the stony lanes no longer hoofed,
no longer parading ladies in waiting,
instead carrying our loud, angry voices.
This city is becoming my homeland,
these bricks and cobbles my brethren,
my soul it yearns to protect and uplift her,
to fight the cause and uphold respect here.
Brick after brick, I will build a home up,
with vistas of a castle and ancient rock,
but it will not keep my fellow person out,
instead will be a beacon that calls to all.
I will show you that a city can hold space,
for every shade, type, character of human race,
can house every voice of ancient Babylon,
can be an island oasis where we all live on.
This city, this country was once auld,
can still be that but so much more,
can be modern, forward thinking, bold,
expansive, inclusive, a neu Caledonia.