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
The Cold Winds of Change Will Carry You, My Dear Friend, To A Distant Place.
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.