Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Many been a slave.
One group more than the others.
And suffered more than many.

But truth stands in tracking our heritage.
We must accept, we all are immigrants.
Just one group see things different.

When you say?
I'm an American born.
You still classified as an immigrant.
Simply by tracing your past.

And honest truth is no group is better.
We just think we are.
In America all groups created this country.
And continue too.

Only a few fails to comprehend truth.
Everyone's an immigrant.
Our heritage is living proof.
  Mar 8 Traveler
Ami Mathur
I tried, I tried to write hard
To see and feel the world the way it is.
But every sense that I feel connects to you.
Every way possible.
Giving my soul a pleasure—a release.
When I thought to write about my observation,
They always felt to be my aspiration; your inspiration.
I tried, I tried to say—a thing—direct,
But was afraid, about the unknown dialogue.
Perhaps, a heart-piercing dialect.

Still, even despite advice of many,
I cannot bring my mind to any.
Fumbling, I write about you—from now to eternity.

You say to control!
How can I?
This thing—today!
I realized,
I spent the whole day to enact you.
Even nature can't defy.
Stronger are my feelings than ever it could be.
Don't worry, I am writing these lines the way they should be.
The way it should be.
the poet made his way through
the fog of memory
trying to find refuge in a phrase
that hides from him each day
each waking hour
and now
he has found it in his dreams
it reveals hazy clues
in glimpses of his past
life unfolding through back room windows
familiar faces that he met briefly
or perhaps just shared a smile
it lives within us all
and begs for our attention
the past is the sum of what we are
keep it close
allow it space
and your dreams will write the poem for you
this one wrote itself
  Mar 8 Traveler
Jimmy silker
A triumph in the moonlight
Hackneyed *****
In the cold light
Of this cruel
Saturday
With apologies to Hannah Millar
Next page