Poems about Immigration
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.
Black or white All different in sight Despite our looks We all should have rights