Poems about Immigration
If You Think I Don’t Know What I’m Talking Bout’ Give Me Time and Hear Me Out; This Isn’t a Story Bout’ Death or Divorce That Separated a
I know of a hero
An African descent
A motherland vision
Not a thing but a beauty
Not a He but a She
Time. When will it be time?
When will it be time for a change, and for improvment
For freedom and for safety
12 letters of my name, altogether, I thought,
form my identity.
I meditated upon my name.
My name
My hero doesn't wear a cape.
My hero, no, she's not in shape.
My hero is not always there.
Carried a miles-distance are these desperate cries
Tears collected as one, as the assembly weeps
I pray of You tonight for a city of dreams,
one where a wise man can ease his aching bones
As a tall lean and athletic Mexican boy,
I look back to back to my past from which I was employed.
Soft golden handle.
Large bronze door,
pushing its breeze on my face,
not knowing what can come my way.