We are children of migrants
Sitting still on the shoulders of giants
Their sway, far movements, trials
Ancestry in homelands from distant miles
Holding onto their language and their culture
Losing parts but finding a juncture
Between the old and the new
Naturally forming dual identities too
My name has a meaning
Your lack of effort to pronounce it is demeaning
The more impersonal we become
We only leave but a crumb
A trace of our heritage
The consequence of parentage