United States is a nation of immigrants. People from all over the world have come here fleeing from war, abuse, famine. In the news you hear all kind of stories about immigrants; some of success, others of tragedy. For many, the American Dream has become the American Nightmare. To embark in a journey of uncertainty requires all the strength, all the will power someone is capable of having. The last years have been very difficult for immigrants in the United States, especially immigrants from Mexico and Central America. They have become the target and the escape goat in this society.
Hunger Strike
The cold penetrates my bones.
I am hungry,
I am sleepy.
And here I am,
in struggle.
Asking to be heard.
My face reflects the fatigue.
The distress is big,
but hope is bigger.
And here I am,
in struggle.
Crying out for justice.
I am one, and however,
I represent many.
The sacrifice is big,
but the cause is worth it.
I am afraid, I am scared,
but I can no longer remain silent ...
I Had a Life
I had a life,
I was free,
I had a voice.
Here I am nothing,
if anything, a statistic,
I have no identity.
What am I?
Who am I?
I am a scream that fades out,
a longing lost
in the nothingness of indifference,
I am a broken dream.
They want my work,
they want my money.
But me, me they don’t want.
I am the undesirable,
the scapegoat.
I am the pawn in a
chess game.
I have sweated blood,
leaving my life
in the fields,
in the factories.
I am the gardener, the cook,
the housekeeper, the nanny.
I live as a slave in the XXI century.
What am I?
Who am I?
I am grandfather, father, mother, brother, son, friend.
But above all, I am a human being
that all that wants is
to have his dignity back.
One voice
One voice
United to many voices
Crying out for the same thing
One voice
many yearnings
Hopes, broken dreams
One voice
asking for justice
asking for equality
One voice
United to many others
Asking, pleading, crying out
One voice
Fighting for their own
Asking for freedom
One voice
Will it be heard?
One voice ...
My voice
Our Voice
They call me DREAMER
They call me DREAMER,
Do they know anything about me?,
about my dreams?
How can they know?
Have they perhaps walked
in my shoes?
They say they accept me,
that I am not at fault.
But they are not sure
what to do with me.
They want to see themselves magnanimous,
and give me a temporary status.
Great! Thank you!
And now I wonder,
What about the rest?
Are not they human beings too?
What about my father?
What about his sacrifices?
Having to hold three jobs
at the same time,
to be able to provide for us.
Or with my mother?
Having to settle
for minimum wage jobs,
although she performs them gratefully,
joyfully and with love.
What is wrong with this society?
Why so much fear?
So much intolerance?
Would this be a game?
A game of power,
where the most vulnerable,
the destitute,
are the ones bearing the brunt?
And, despite all this nonsense,
they keep calling me... Dreamer.
Poems by Teresa Lefranc