Bright yellow sparks glisten around the landscape
Sheer environment expose
Warmth slinks down every step
Spur like rays muster in long light
The wolves wait to howl
Soon--Bunch of flowers
Huddle in with sunlit love
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
I couldn’t understand the language she spoke,
at least not all of it,
but the emotion pouring past her lips,
the tears in her eyes, her clenched and shaking fists
enunciated more clearly,
than any piece of English Poetry I had ever read,
and grabbed me, held me still.
…In that moment, her soul was in my arms.
In that finite, tender breath of our lives,
she was my mother, my best friend…
but I could not console her.
I didn’t have the words;
and my heart sank into the
concrete between us,
wet with the pain of God’s rain
and her tears.
…Were my tears
So, I simply opened my palms
toward her crouched form and
spoke the only words I could
fathom, that would be accepted
by a stranger on a dangerous street.
"I am sorry, It will be okay. God will bless you."
I knew she did not understand…
“que va a estar bien”
“Dios te bendecira’ “
the words were as messy as the overturned
duffle bag at her feet…and fumbled, slowly
from my lips, as my knees hit the street.
Two strangers, cried in the rain,
knowing nothing of each other’s suffering,
and yet we shared the weight,
together, for those few moments;
the barrier of language was broken.
Love spoke for us.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
…Love transcends any language
Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2014
Don’t look at me
As though I am an alien or a stranger,
Don’t let the dagger of antipathy
Fly out of your eyes.
I am your neighbor.
Don’t call me a foe, an antagonist or a rival,
Don’t roll up your mistrustful sleeves for a fight.
I am your friend.
Don’t hold this murderous weapon in your kind hand,
Don’t deny me the right to work, to eat, or to live.
I am your brother.
If destiny willed me to be born
On this side of the frontier line,
If my parents wished me
To wear these clothes
And taught me their own dances,
Do we have to be adversaries?
If fate desired me to speak
This tongue foreign to you
And our skins’ color to differ,
Do we have to be competitors?
If necessity decided for us
To live in this country,
In the North, South, East, or West,
Do we have to be opponents?
If I believe in Jesus,
If this is my philosophy,
And my culture,
Do we have to be enemies?
No! A million times: no!
Please, look at me with new eyes
And throw away your injurious prejudices.
What do you see but a person like you
Who wants, desires and hopes for the same things in life:
I laugh and I cry.
Just like you.
I grow up,
And I die.
Just like you.
I’m a father,
And a daughter.
Just like you.
You see: we are alike.
We are the same.
We are brothers.
Listen to me my neighbor, my friend, and my ally:
I am telling you the truth.
We are the victims of schemes,
Well planned in advance
By deceitful evil-hearted men
Who wished for our destruction.
They, masters of savage forgery, dividers of mankind
Have tricked us throughout history
With well-orchestrated lies
And with treacherous stories.
These intellectually impotent criminals
Have instilled poison in your heart and mine.
Thus, by cultivating hatred, bitterness and rage,
They managed to shape us to ruthless foes,
To merciless enemies,
To cruel animals.
Please, listen to me! It is true. We are brothers.
Let us therefore with irresistible will cross all frontier lines
That the past has erected between us,
Thus making divisions vanish.
Let us with supreme power break the bonds of history,
Religion and culture and run into each other’s arms.
Let us uproot from our tormented hearts thorny mistrust
That was planted there thousands of years ago.
Let us seize ammunition from destructive hatred,
And make war capitulate.
Let us sink the cholera of bitterness
In the affectionate sea of universal accord.
Let us unite and march to higher claims,
To incomparable glory
Where peace can blossom today.
Thus, both of us will go to sleep at last,
Fearless of each other tonight.
© Demetrios Trifiatis
08 September 2015
NOTE: This poem, after having been edited, is posted again because
of the acute migration and refugee problem that has been created
in Europe. Greece, my country, receives thousands and even tenths
of thousands of refugees and illegal immigrants each day. In some of
the Greek islands the migrants are more than the Greeks. Some of these
people leave for Europe where in countries like F.Y.R.O.M., Serbia, Hungary
Bulgaria, Austria, Germany, France, Italy have created social and economic problems because of their numbers. This fact prompted me, after the suggestion
of a good friend at PS, to repost the poem so as to ask from all, migrants and natives, understanding and tolerance for the good of peace! Thank you!
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015
"Mi primo" means my cousin in Spanish.
He calls me his "primita"- little cousin.
This is the story of how mi primo
Taught me about the meaning of bread;
Of the meaning of tortillas...
He and I are exchanging languages
Over Dairy Queen chicken strips;
I repeat the words he teaches me
Back to him in my all-american
White girl accent,
Trying to learn how to Salsa
With a tongue that only knows
How to stumble over the trills
And rapid-fire hot-sauce syllables-
He makes me say them again and
Again until I sound like a distorted
Calle 13 track on repeat...
Mi primo offers me the bread
That came with his meal;
I ask him why he doesn't want it.
He says he doesn't eat bread;
He is Hispanic; he eats tortillas-
Do I know tortillas?-
He gestures, indicates the
Flat, full moon-shaped
Circle of a torilla with his hands.
Si, I know tortillas.
What I want to know is-
What the heck do tortillas have to do
With whether you eat bread or not?
So mi primo tells me una historia
About a guy he knows,
20-something and something else...
All his family came from Guatemala;
He was brought up going to a church
With a pastor that preached sermons
That trilled like heavenly trumpets;
He has skin that was colored warm
As if he had grown up kissed by
The sun of his family's homeland;
He knew how to speak English but
His mother tongue was always Spanish-
His cousins were his best friends
Because being "un Guate" means
Knowing the meaning of "la familia"...
He learned at age 21
That he was born in America.
Eagerly, he shed his Hispanicness like
A snake skin that had grown too tight,
Clutching at the revelation of his birthplace
Like a get-out-of-jail free card,
Hides the color of his face behind
The red, white, and blue of his
He doesn't go to church anymore,
Because American guys don't
Have time for God;
He buys big, fancy cars he doesn't have
A prayer of paying off because
American girls are supposed to like
That kind of thing;
He tries not to remember
The meaning of la familia...
And he always eats bread-
His tongue has suddenly turned
Too American to abide the taste,
The flatness, of las tortillas...
He is the reason that mi primo cannot
Abide the taste of bread, too thick
With the flavor of betrayed heritage
To sit easy in his stomach...
Mi primo offers me,
His little blonde all-American cousin,
The bread he doesn't want.
I wonder if one day he'll
Mean the word "primita" enough
To offer me a tortilla.
Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2014
She has eyes that have seen all the sky
a smile that is both knowing and shy
Her brow is humble and also proud
Expressions as soft as a shifting cloud.
She is tall and frail like a river reed
Up until now the forest has been her creed
And words that once flowed like a river stream
Now she must search for what they mean
Where once the forest taught her each simple rule
Now she is thrust to study in a Western school
So her body conveys her intentions devout
She stays rooted despite her desire for flight
She absorbs new knowledge like sunlight itself
All her tears are like rain on this hard gained wealth
This shy forest spirit has blossomed and grown
In quiet moments we know where her thoughts have flown
This is my friend's daughter they adopted from Thailand at age 11.
In one year she was speaking fluent English.
She received-american-veterans jrotc-cadet--outstanding-cadet-award/ last year.
Only one cadet per detachment receives the award annually.
She is also a girl guide and on the Volley Ball Team.
I taught her papercrafts and she makes all her own beautiful greeting cards.
She is a true example of a girl rising.
She misses her sister in Thailand who was kept by the family and often thinks of them all
and is torn between the two worlds but understands she has more opportunity here.
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013
Oppressed by you, your state, your religion
So you think you good, kind and Superior
But I find you cruel, arrogant and callous
But that is just in my view, what do I know?
You control the language that describes pain
But there is no for me in its grid, or how I feel
My soul is ripped from my body and bound,
On to your machines on which I slave and toil.
You say it has to be this way, no room for doubt
Master and slave, it is only a matter of degrees
But it is my kind that is always tied to the rack
While you sip vintage wine in the lap of luxury.
Everything has its time and its place, yours is over
End is near, for you and everything you hold dear
Everything carries with it the root of its own destruction
And I will rejoice now that your has very nearly come.
Copyright © tony northover | Year Posted 2013
• New Hampshire
• New York
• New Jersey
• North Carolina
• South Carolina
• Rhode Island
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2014
New land with meadows, mountains and ridges,
of sandy golden beaches, waters blue,
over the bay most famous of bridges,
adventures to youthful visions, all new.
The vast land of golden soil, arched beaches,
where the rugged beuaty remains.
Thick forests as far as the eye reaches,
changing to highland, bush and treeless plains.
A virgin land for many, those with dreams,
venture to find in a culture blended,
their place amongst those entering in streams,
to live their lifes in a country splendid.
For the young and spirited to advance
in a beautiful land of vast expanse.
Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2015
Locked in her tower our heroine sleeps alone
This beautiful flower has been kidnapped from her throne
She stares at the moonlight then drifts off to sleep
To dream of a brave knight scaling the castles keep.
Her flaxen hair frames her delicate ivory skin
Vivid dreams of her hero reveal her beauty within
Steadfast and strong and ready to fight to the death
To rescue this beauty he will forgo his last breath.
Her chivalrous knight enters the abductors domain
Soon she'll taste the sweetness of freedom again.
His shield raised high and broadsword drawn
With every step he takes, for her hope is reborn
Caught off guard with a blow he is swept of his feet
He fights blindly on until his quest is complete
To vanquish the captors is his goal and last wish
Sweep the princess off her feet with a tender kiss
He slashes the ropes that bind her to the bed
Making passionate love for hours now they are happily wed
19th May 2014
Written By Jan Allison & Darren Watson
~submitted to Dave Wood's Imagination Contest~
Awarded 1st place - am so delighted to have won this with Darren he
is my inspiration
Copyright © JADAZZLE UNITED | Year Posted 2014
Come by the thousands
Hungry, desperate, each day
Greece's agony mounts!*
Home lost, new home found
Distant shores opening arms
Tears flooding the seas
© Demetrios Trifiatis
17 August 2015
*Thousands of refugees and illegal immigrants enter Greece
each day in search of a better future. Greece, despite its economic
crisis and with an unemployment near 30% and salaries and pensions
down by 40% helps the best way it can. Europe watches as more than
two million of these unfortunate people live inside our country of ten million.
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015
When I am in your home,
I am back to Laos after a lifetime.
I am in a place beyond words:
Where the steam of the kitchen
The smell of warm coffee
The sound of a television
The taste of a meal made with kindness
All feel like an America where our dreams come true,
Our memories return
And everything lost is found once more
Waiting with a smile, a sabaidee.
Copyright © Bryan Thao Worra | Year Posted 2015
On Election night, twentysixteen
I saw a strange and surreal scene
I looked cross the great harbor at Lady Liberty that night
And I knew right away, something wasn’t right
I saw Lady Liberty and she was crying
Because the America she loved, now was dying
She once welcomed millions to this golden shore
But now they ‘re not welcome here anymore
I thought of Ellis Island, where they once came through the doors
Millions of feet crossing the Great Hall’s floors
They brought their hopes, they brought their dreams
They brought their plans, they brought their schemes
They brought their laughter, they brought their tears
They brought their love and they brought their fears
They came with their families or came alone
Some names we know, but most unknown
They joined the huddled masses already here
The marginalized, the forgotten, the second-class tier
The wretched refuse that made this land great
Yet met with derision, scorn and hate
the First Peoples of this Mother Earth
forced off the land of their ancestors birth
forced to flee, run and hide
one step ahead of the Genocide
those that suffered from old Jim Crow
pleading for rights, met with a NO
When they were polite and asked with a Please
They were met with a Noose thrown over the trees
Many worked hard and were met with success
Their children grew up to be America’s best
Many here now forget where they came
Their immigrant ancestor, can’t remember the name
Can’t remember the ancestor that came here by boat
Can’t remember the issues or the last vote
Once we were great but that’s in the past
Don’t blame us that it didn’t last
Our country is changing from sea to sea
Too many people not like me
The only way is to take it back
go out and stop them, go on the attack
The others are the people that caused our pain
Push them all out, again we will gain
So he vowed an America, that’s once again great
To get there, he said, America must hate
Hate those others that are not like us
Put them again on the back of the bus
America first! and thats not all
protect ourselves, lets build a wall
We can bring back the greatness of a past day
All we have to do is chant U-S-A
The lamp beside the golden door
Doesn’t seem so bright anymore
It sounds so simple, but it’s really so Grand
An idea we once used to build this land
E Pluribus Unum, Out of Many, One
An idea that that’s Sinking with the Setting Sun
By John Gordon
Copyright © John Gordon | Year Posted 2016
At the moment
Of my restless teenage run
Your eyes emanated lights of million stars
Many times the size of our Sun.
Frenzy feeling for clinging to you, singularity.
But I was taken aback by sudden bars,
Though I could sense the gravity.
I should keep firing my rocket
Against all odds, unhoped for
Real fact was too much ferine to the prior.
I would eventually lose my goal:
That was my closest buddies'safest bet.
They described you as a black-hole,
They said, " she is not your girl."
They said, "For you, she is evil incarnate."
But, how could I ignore you,
Embodied in such amazing curve and curl?
So, before my eyes you appeared as an Event-horizon.
Yeah, it was you
My teenage beauty-paragon.
Beyond this nothing can escape
Not even light,
I kept travelling towards you,
The universe looked somewhere dim and somewhere bright.
But my clock slowed down
Now, I've to keep my feet on the ground
I feel like, a king without a crown.
To this nostalgic journey my consciousness's been bound.
For a black-hole
There's a whole universe to devour
But I'm absorbed in my amour.
A time travel
A story of incompleteness to tell.
But no need
I've reached a brand-new universe!
I could never get
My first love, remains insatiate.
I've no regret, it cann't be a curse.
I can bend
The story is not end.
I'll not bore anyone with my reminiscence.
But, I've gathered a vast time travel experience.
Here I feel no delight, no pain,
I'm ready to fall in another love once again.
Copyright © PRITHWISH MUKHERJEE | Year Posted 2014
dancing for joy
Sitting on an open shelf
This beautiful maiden
Strolls into the shop
As my eyes whistled
She picked me up
Holding me in her hands
Smiling down at me
Oh I love
Words had trembling effect
with this cheese
Taking me home
You took a little bite
A little taste
Out of me
Lips softly grin
bursts in flavour
Opening a door
You placed me
on top shelf
Felt like royalty
Lights out wow
The last face
Ever so beautiful
out of date
Left in the dark
A smell started
Pungent in fungus hair
Awaiting you in dreams
You open the door
frightened in the fridge
All I done
was shout cheese
Thrown in a black plastic bag
Broken hearted suffocating
with the rubbish
Shouting walking away
That's me done
It was so sad
The green hairy
As you will not like
To see the ugly side
Of the green
Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2013
When it comes to Black slavery
Black people see the White people as the enemy
The Black were owned by the White
True fact but not completely right.
Black men were sold as slaves to White men,
By powerful Black men who knew slavery would happen.
The lower level of Black African society
were owned by the powerful Black African bully.
The powerful Black African men rounded up the poor,
then sold those Black African men who were transported across the seashore.
It was the White men of Britain that made the slave trade illegal
Britain was given the responsibility of policing the oceans which was vital
as it prevented Slade traders from transporting Black people.
Britain also made slavery illegal forcing others too as it was powerful.
The irony is the poor slaves got to go to America
While those that sold them stayed in Africa.
The slaves now live with the chance of opportunity.
While those that sold them live in poverty.
It was not right for the White to own the Black
but that has changed now and there is no going back.
People should celebrate the changes made through history,
use the stories educationally and not a reason to blame thee,
who were not part of the lesson that created changes,
because no matter our race, our ancestors were all slaves through the ages.
Black sold Black to White,
White sold Black to White,
and White freed Black from White.
Find a history book and you will find I'm right.
P.s the term "African American" is divisive in itself, as well as inaccurate, have you ever heard of an African Australian? People were emigrating all over the world at the same time as people were emigrating to America but only in America do you divide in this way, maybe think about ending it I say.
Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018
My imagination dipped its pen into the ink of inspiration and put on paper Muse's dictation!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
11 August 2017
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2017
This boat is full
a vessel overflowing
in bitter mist
Dream boy, dream—
sunlight on your husk;
around your gaunt calves;
fields of algae
spacious green meadows,
You buried memories
with clawing fingers in scarred soil—
- small hibiscus petals
one rippled giggle
tattered pink of her dress
small scabs under band aids -
fertilized dust with saline grief
This boat is full
a vessel overflowing
August 8, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
"Make America White Again"
Will never make any sense
Despite the tweets of "GENIUS" Trump
Or Republicans like Pence
Brown-skinned people filled this land
From one end to the other
And though they had their differences
"Eve" is everyone's mother
Though some are prone to cast a stone
Or ridicule their brother
What makes a nation great again
Is love for one another.
Copyright © Rico Leffanta | Year Posted 2018
The musty, foul smelling
The room is dim
Everyone is waiting
For the shores of Ellis Island
They hope to have a new life
Start over in America
The room awakens
When the captain yells
I see the gleaming copper Statue of Liberty
I can smell the fresh salty air
My heart is filled with optimism
My dreams are so close to coming true
But the same cannot be said for others
Some are sent back for illness
Or not enough money
Or no ride
They send you back
To that hopeless land
Back on the dim boat
Where dreams once lived but now are lost
Yet others are let through
To the country of America
Where a better life awaits
Filled with hope
In the land of opportunity
I smile a happy smile
I am almost there
Copyright © Kaela Aalto | Year Posted 2013
My new home is in a new country.
I know very little of the language and culture.
Memories of my old country will be in my heart forever
The love of my old country will always remain.
I leave for a better life and new opportunities
Hoping to make a bright future for me and my family.
Copyright © Arty Rico Jones | Year Posted 2013
In the country of my forefathers,
Economy is friendless and upset,
Politics are sleeping with labour,
Justice is seducing foreign crime,
Poetry is turned on, but it fears,
Traditions keeps history hostage,
Religions are attempting suicide,
Nature is busy biting its tongues,
Fruits are swearing at their trees,
Education shows God axis finger,
Seas gets shallow, graves deepen,
Life confront its first nightmares,
Death is satisfying its final desire,
Future is stinking nothing but lies,
June 13, 2003
By Mohlouoa Ntsasa
Copyright © MOHLOUOA NTSASA | Year Posted 2013
What Kind of People Are We
In a Shakespearean sense of tragedy and doubt the well-used
“To Be or Not To Be” from Hamlet is not the question I shall
discuss in this narrative. Rather, I shall consider a few things
concerning the current Middle Eastern and European migrant
situation that has riveted the attention of the countries in those
regions as well as the rest of the world. And it’s my opportunity
to reflect on some of the things that have occurred (and are still
occurring right now), that I find quite troubling and morally
offensive to me as concerned person and citizen.
As a writer and poet, and as a moral human being, I can say
that I was truly shocked at the sight of an innocent, young Syrian
refugee boy named “Aylan Kurdi,” who had drowned and was lying
face down on a Turkish beach near a resort with his head turned
slightly on its right side, as the ebb and flow of the salted waves
pushed and pulled on his little body. A real tragedy for sure that
might have been prevented, if humane, responsible, and responsive
migrant immigration policies had been in place so his father
would not have been compelled to put his wife and both of his
sons—who all drowned together—on that fateful boat at the very
mercy of ruthless and evil human traffic smugglers.
The horrendous scenes played over and over on the 24-hour news
cycle of the migrants and their innocent children from Syria, Iraq,
Turkey, Afghanistan, and other countries being treated like cattle
(or even less than cattle), and indiscriminately pushed around and
tear-gassed by unfriendly and unwelcoming jack-booted Hungarian
Rendorség (Police) were certainly most shocking and disgustingly
revulsive by both their malicious tenor and insidious intent. The
actions also of some right-wing Hungarian demonstrators hurling
loud and abusive comments at the refugees was also quite tragic
and disturbing. I found the actions of the Hungarian Police under
the direction of Prime Minister Viktor Orban to be similarly
reminiscent of the actions of Hitler’s Gestapo and Sturmabteilung
or the SA Troops after 1933 in Nazi Germany. Shame on them!
Shame on them! This is the same old tired bigotry and stupidity
on display today.
Despite these despicable actions of the Hungarian Police and many
of Mr. Orban’s governmental officials, a number of Hungarian
citizens still showed their kindness and humanity in helping the
migrants at various junctures on the autobahn as they trekked
toward the Austrian border in route ultimately to Germany. This
caught my obvious attention as well.
For me, the “so-what?” here turns ultimately upon the following
philosophical and human question: “What Kind of People Are We?”
The migrant problem as we know is largely the result of the massive
displacement of people that has occurred (and is still occurring) in
in the war-torn countries in the Middle East and in certain areas of
Southeast Asia. This tragedy is one of many of our world’s current
and future 21st-century challenges. How each of us as “concerned
citizens,” in consonance with the policies and actions of the various
governments in the countries we each live under, will certainly
play a role in reflecting in the end the kind of people we really are.
For me, the nationalistic actions of the right-wing parties and
extremists, in many countries (including the United States) and
particularly now in Europe, provide no real solution at all, and
become a convenient excuse for many people to forsake their
conscience and basic humanity—and to stick their heads in the
sand like a bunch of frightful ostriches lost in the reveries of
their hate and prejudice, and disgraceful cowardice! There can
be no apology and justification for this ever! This type of
behavior is a deep-seated cancer ever-lurking in the genes of
our human society and in mankind’s soul—awaiting its chance
to metastasize and reek its horrible destruction upon its victims.
The point I’m driving at is this: The current responsible actions
of a number of world leaders, to particularly highlight those of
the European Union, appear to be taking several of the right steps
in helping these refugee migrants and their families undergoing
this terrible strife forced upon them by the tyranny of war and the
resultant poverty and dislocation. Being stupid, hateful, and clearly
prejudiced as some people and certain governmental leaders are in
our global community today is not the answer and it never will be!
To people who really do care about this ongoing migrant tragedy,
it’s time to rally and act in support of local, regional, and worldwide
efforts to help these migrant people and their families so afflicted
by poverty, disease, war, injury, death, and territorial displacement.
For me, I desire to make my voice heard loud and clear as a writer,
poet, and concerned world citizen on this matter and in my own
most humble way. Keep in mind that many of us are descendants
of families who at one time or another were migrants from other
countries escaping the whip and lash of cruel dictators and their
terrible regimes masquerading as legitimate governments of the
In my estimation, the kind of people we should be or aspire to be
are those who relish the winds of freedom, the certainty of justice,
the spirit of friendship, the values of fairness and fair play, the
magnificence of humanity, the desire for cultural diversity and
inclusion, and the love of our fellow man under the very eyes
of God Himself.
What kind of people are we? With this, I rest my case.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
September 11, 2015 (Narrative)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015
It begins like "vater" on stone--
with a drop
with a drip
that rubs the colors off your face.
It is free speech, fast cars, and French fries--
New York in the eyes of a village boy.
It's a rat race;
It's lazy tongues, lost souls and a longing for home
without a home to go back to.
It's losing the language of your ancestors,
forgetting the prayers of your parents' gods,
and dreaming vain dreams in a foreign tongue
until one day it gives way.
Your lips parched;
you ask for water with a rounded mouth.
Copyright © Anamika N | Year Posted 2014
A discombobulated couple that landed in the new world with hopes that left the bitter taste of rejection in their mouths
No family , no friends, just man and wife, 2 university degrees that meant nothing
One mother tongue that was broken
Now, with swollen belly with a baby inside
Because no matter what, this baby was coming
And they thought to themselves, for a split second, was it worth it to put all of our money into the dream of a country that is swallowing us whole
And papa look’s at my mother’s eyes
And sees loneliness living where the Iris was
Wants to give her a home in a country that looks at her with the word visitor wrapped around their tongues
On their wedding day she left an entire village to be his wife,
And now she left an entire country to be a warrior
And when the winter came, they had nothing but the warmth of their own bodies to keep the coldness out. And like two brackets they faced one another
To hold the hold the dearest part of them, their children,
They turned a suitcase full of clothes into a life and regular paycheck to make sure that children of immigrants wouldn’t hate them for being children of immigrants
They worked too hard, You can tell by their hands
Their eyes were begging for sleep but our mouths were begging to be fed
And that is the most artistic thing I have ever seen
It is poetry to these ears that have never heard what passion sounds like.
There are no words in the English language that can articulate
that kind of beauty
I can’t compact their existence into 26 letters and call it a description
I tried once but the adjectives needed to describe them don’t even exist
So I ended up with Pages and pages full of words
followed with commas and more words and more commas
only to realize that there are somethings in the world that are so infinite
They could never use a full stop
So how dare you mock your mother when she opens her mouth and broken English spills out
Her accent is thick like honey, hold it with your life
It’s the only thing she has left from home
Don’t you stomp on that richness
Instead hang it up on the walls of museums next to
Dali and Van Gogh
Her life is brilliant and tragic
This is a poem by famous poet Rupi Kaur
Copyright © Unknown Poet | Year Posted 2017
• The President
• Department under cabinet members
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2014