Mrs Murray was a resident of Grenfell Tower. Thankfully, she and her family made it out in the early hours of that morning. Mrs Murray has written a powerful poem, and she’d like for us to share it with you.
Everywhere I look
They can’t hold us down when we stand together,
we march in silence no matter the weather,
no matter the season,
We stand United,
together for a reason.
No, we’re not savage and no, we won’t scrap.
you know we already know the hap,
what’s going on.
You want us to act out dumb
so you can paparazzi that and show us to be wrong.
Try escape your fate, try deny us justice.
Do you really think we’re gonna have this?
Do you think that’s gonna fly?
Do you really think we’re gonna give u a bly?
When we gather in respect on these roads
that are scarred and coated by the dust of the bones.
The ones we lost, you could never replace,
you can see it from the mourned out looks on our face.
On our faces.
Different skin tones, all different types
but all of us, the human race.
How many of us have you left displaced?
Diaspora in our own land,
feeling like an outsider with my own brand,
Survivor chic donations old and new;
we are grateful for those who rode through.
The ones who still stand, forever we thank you.
We bear our scars inside and out,
Thank God from us who made it out.
‘Survive and rise’ is what is going on,
and if you try stop it, we will remain together strong.
We march together, in respectful silence.
Justice our quest,
And until it is delivered, none of us shall rest.
None of us shall play,
none of us will ever just get on with our day.
Forever changed from that day forward in solace,
as we are taunted by the memory,
we see the event on replay.
Behind our eyes, inside our minds.
Sometimes there’s a reprieve for a sec when I
see my kids play.
But then it rushes back and its back to that day.
Back to the start.
Back to hearing every beat of my heart.
Back to the stairs,
back to the fear,
my heart and feet pounding in my ears.
Pulsating adrenaline giving me strength
to carry my child and run with my fear.
Run for my life.
Run down the stairs.
Cant find the right door.
How can I see myself outside of myself
feeling so helpless this way.
Follow my husband.
He leads the way.
Those flashing lights.
The fire brigade are here,
I think it’s gonna be alright.
How horrific it seems,
how horrific it was,
that day terrorises my every thought,
my every day is blighted since that fire ignited
and consumed my home,
our homes, their homes.
Yet some of them lie,
some of them pretend and like to say
that this happened to them but it didn’t happen that way.
We are not the same.
I am not the same,
In myself I have changed.
I look for escapes inside every building,
literally every room.
Sometimes with my kids we pretend it’s a game
but it’s my way to keep us safe after this.
How can I not, after this happened to us,
not them I see.
It was my house,
wrapped in that plastic cladding like Lego
I see. I survived. I see.
Our lives are precious and priceless at least,
how can you justify a saving of 2 pounds
per square feet?
I guess we will see.
Well that’s what I’m told.
When the inquiry is ongoing,
life changed from when the fire started,
my life feels on hold.
Justice, I hear.
Justice, I seek.
Please don’t overlook or forget about those
who still breathe.
Caught up in the mele,
caught up in the scrum,
feels like they’re making me beg for a scrap or a crumb.
What did we do that warrants this behaviour?
I cannot breathe,
I am numb.
Not all have been housed,
some still in emergency accommodation,
AKA stage 1.
I’m in need of readjusting to community,
I’m in need of a place, in need of a house,
of some personal space,
some space of my own,
a place to call home.
In need of some answers,
not just for the community from St Helens to St Francis,
but for those of us who survived this.
The reports seem like we’re settled,
I long for this to be true.
Do you know how this feels?
Has this happened to you?
Has this shredded your life?
Disassembled your mind?
Can you say that your trauma is like mine?
Can you imagine the sights?
The worst horror movie will never prepare
your eyes from seeing what was actually there.
But “return to work and pay bills and get on with life”,
What about the struggles, the scars the strife?
Can you imagine the firefighters now with PTSD?
This was their work,
they were prepared and yet still witnessed the worst.
How does someone cope with these facts?
These images that are forever embossed.
Whether or not I like it, my attention is engrossed.
Whisked back to the start
to the door knock, to the first.
Around we go in a loop I hope is not eternal.
Everywhere I look, I see that towering inferno.