Poems about Immigration

In this land Arrival is not the problem: It's the survival. In their hotels Servers outnumber the served

Growing up I was taught I a

Wounds

In a day, a week, a month, a year wounds doze, they sleep they disappear, but this wound is

Walking at dawn through the city without a recent map seems strange.

Prestera

Prestera. men varför? - Makulera. men vad då? för att etablera mig, nya versionen som ändå klänger och sträcker sitt håll på minnes handt

Purpose of life By: Alondra Martinez-V The Instructor said,

The Tower lies in rapturous silence, The Margalite Palace ready themselves for wrath and ruin,

It Seems That MISINFORMATION’s Emanating From Stations... From Food To Education To This Corona Situation... !!!

It started with a box. Left in that parking lot.

One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like lilies On water; it glides

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