He clawed his way … Against all odds and their friends He stood up Shrugged off hopelessness Packed his bags Threw the “whine” Killed his fear with vengeance Never ever looked back He walked one way … and a long way Looked back He was alone utterly Alone And he would do it all over again Alone because he doesn’t know any other way
Kathleen Avenue still has houses, But people left, and trees were felled; The canopy across the street Has lost some limbs And many feet Of children Playing hide and seek.
One house, a brown-shingled frame Is aging there as are our names; The front yard doesn't boast corn That Daddy grew When first we landed; Not knowing neighbours were offended With farming behind green picket fences.
so corn, cabbage and turnip too were left to rot. Daddy knew to strike when hot.
The locals weren't too much impressed When Daddy taught them some respect. The human smell of decaying turnip Turned noses down that stood straight up. The front was never farmed again.
Recently, I passed that yard, The picket fences gone; And someone has a garden there, The new arrivals, If they care, Really see the wisdom there. I give a nod To my Old Man, An immigrant Before his time.
This land, foreign, yet so welcoming Who would've known I would own land halfway across the world from the homes of my ancestors or rather, this land would allow me to borrow it prosper from it and make it my home
Trees sway to the melody of a warm summer breeze Chirping birds and bubbling streams the harmony And I, simply another passing traveller In the eternal life of this land
Who was here 100, 500, 1000 years ago? Who knew this land like the palms of their love? Who sat here, as I do now, eyes closed taking in the music of this land soul at peace knowing it was home?
Rise and shine my dear ... Your Green Card is here Ten years of waiting, hoping, dreaming, Rise and shine my dear ... Your application is rejected. You may appeal this decision. No lawyer, nor a friend: Neither a family Appeal I did. Rise and shine my dear ... Your Green Card is here.
And here we go again… Vive La France Et le Carte de Sejour For this man with no love neither a friend But an endless quest to belong Here and now Forgive me and forget me not my dear.
Please... I am tired of fighting to survive I am a tired old man I have lived but never loved Please take me home I am a flightless bird crossed the seven seas I need to rest Please take me home My home is the endless blue sky, the summer breeze, the full moon over the Mediterranean Sea, and words of love whispered in my ears ...
It soothes me to keep the clutter of the past in picture albums on my cell phone: mother’s yellow dresses, ashes in weighted urns, brittle birth and death certificates, enough heirlooms to make a portable history, things heavy enough to resist memory’s drift, for when the hills blaze up and I have to evacuate, leave everything behind— I am ready to be an immigrant once more.
Your heart rests in the palm of your father's sacrifice. Your breath rests in the nostalgic wind that passes by him When he remembers his past and reflects on your future. Your colours run down the lines of your mother's smile, Whenever she raises her hands to the sky, Praying for you and a little more time, Because she left her beating heart back home, To become foreign and unknown only so you could grow.
Their complexions are painted with fatigue, Because when you're sound asleep, they run toward bordered walls, so that when you wake up in the morning, There will be open doors at your feet.
When a nostalgic wind passes by them, They'll tell you stories of their childhood, And they'll leave each word, With a taste of reminiscence, A hint of stolen years reflected in the teardrops, That rest in the corner of their eyes, And yet when they look towards you, In seconds your reflection overshadows everything they once used to dream.
-- There are so many words to describe me, none of them is B.A.M.E. I've got a foreign name, exotic. Try to read it before you modify it.
How long have I lived in the UK because my English is so good, where did I learn it? My accent is American, it's confusing. or my accent is too Filipino, quite embarrassing. How can we come from so far and be so fluent-- so bizzarre.
My rice cooker is an enigma, more so the amount of rice I eat, huh? My spoon and fork don't make any sense to you But your table knife achieves nothing for me, too.
Why do we dye our perfect black hair? why do we want our skin to be fair-- why don't we just embrace our God-given tan? Your president seems like a smart man Fighting your country's drug war like no one else can Lastly, "are you a Manny Pacquiao fan?"
It's quite difficult to be a P.O.C. in a world that doesn't understand our P.O.V. Why we've immigrated and not always assimilated Why we've flown thousand of miles away from home Only to stick with our own but sometimes there is just some comfort in not having to explain the way we are or who we are and why we are the persons we are without having to feel subpar.