My mother one of the three, the creator of me
My aunts, the extended branches of her & her role in my life Caribbean women, roots beginning in Jamaica Three different buds of the same flower, my grandmother Like the flowers my grandmother grew, she nourished them too. Plumeria vibrant and spirited, makes its statement in the background As a reminder of her to them, ‘I may be gone but I’m still here’ In them she lives on Subjects of my work, elements of my own masterpiece I thank you for being worthy Inspired by the works of Kehinde Wiley Like the realism he captures, I attempt to copy But in my own signature & John Singer Sargent By setting the foundation, I able to build a new and add to you With my own Interpretation and melanin representation I thank you each for your creations, that sparked the inspirations that feed my imagination From my shoe box of paints to my colored pencils, I thank you too This whole image was able to come alive and shine through you - Fabbiha Tahsin ‘23
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La vida que no quiero,
La vida que da la esperanza Perdido en la vida que no es para mí. ¿Qué voy a hacer? Yo soy de quien el gobierno tiene miedo, “Un ataque en pureza racial” Pero lo que no saben es que somos la gente detrás de la escena. Nunca conseguir el sueño americano, No es lo que queremos Este país no fue construido para nosotros. Nosotros somos las personas que nos están matando, para mejorar la vida. Nosotros somos las personas que trabajamos sin reconocimiento. Nosotros somos las personas que el gobierno pasa por alto. Pero nosotros somos las personas que son el futuro de los Estados Unidos Nosotros somos las personas que trabajan para nuestros futuros. Porque nosotros no tenemos miedo, Los Estados Unidos es un país construido sobre inmigrantes. Dicen que son mejores que nosotros. Pero nosotros somos mejores; Más trabajo duro. Más determinado. Y tener más almas hermosas que todos nuestros enemigos. No nos echamos atrás sin luchar. Una lucha por nuestro futuro. Una lucha por nuestra libertad. Una lucha por nuestros derechos. Nadie es ilegal o inválido. Somos iguales. - Publius '22 My mother always tells me her struggles
How she wishes her life were better How she wishes MY life were better “You should appreciate how lucky you are.” “Some people aren't as lucky.” Being thousands of miles away from her family For me For my sister For my brother How can I repay her? How do I express my gratitude? The nightmares she has of getting lost All the stories that include her home country When does it stop The silent tears that run down her face when her sisters call The piles of tissues that fill the trash can The fake smiles that she shows us All that she has sacrificed How do I repay her? - Anonymous '22 Y el viento soplaba en su cara
Es una vida nueva que no podría ser amada. ¿Por qué deberían estar separados? Los gritos de sus hermanos Los gritos de sus padres Las amenazas de los oficiales que asustaban a todos ¿Cómo pueden hacer esto? Años de su vida sintiéndose solo Constantemente detrás de una puerta cerrada Nunca puedes saber toda tu historia Cuando llegó el día Y el viento ya no estaba allí. ¿Podemos ser un mundo con piezas rotas? - Anonymous '22 Quarantine is like being an only daughter in a Mexican household Quarantine is like being an only daughter in a Mexican household. No sales. You don’t go out. I feel the knot in my stomach tighten every time I have to ask. One simple question unravels an emotional storm and all hell breaks loose. I feel the adrenaline pump through my body, the fear rush through my veins and the ticking bomb of my anxiety waiting to go off. As I walk up to my mother, I rehearse exactly what I’m going to say. Ma, puedo salir? No, that’s too vague. She’ll be annoyed by the lack of information. Ma, ¿puedo salir con un amigo? Asking to go out with male friend? That’s even worse. I walk in fear as I find the right words to ask her. The right words to ease her worries, and finally get her to say yes. And when my naive hope and optimism overpowers my fear, the words finally escape, I take a deep breath and say - “Ma, ¿puedo salir?” No. Quarantine is like being an only daughter in a Mexican household. No sales. You don’t go out. But when you do, it is imperative that you cover up appropriately. For your own safety, of course. Algo malo te va pasar si no te cuidas. My mother says. Something bad will happen to you if you don’t take care of yourself. Don’t wear those shorts. They’re too short, y ellos te van a mirar. Don’t wear that dress. It’ll draw too much attention. Don’t wear that shirt either. Usa algo un poco más conservador. She reminds me que es mejor prevenir que lamentar, and assures me that someday I will understand that all the restrictions are for my own good. Quarantine is like being an only daughter in a Mexican household. Believe me. I know. Nicole Mendez '21 (BHSEC Queens)From the Wyndham sisters to the Lindo sisters My mother one of the three, the creator of me My aunts, the extended branches of her & her role in my life Caribbean women, roots beginning in Jamaica Three different buds of the same flower, my grandmother Like the flowers my grandmother grew, she nourished them too. Plumeria vibrant and spirited, makes its statement in the background As a reminder of her to them, ‘I may be gone but I’m still here’ In them she lives on Subjects of my work, elements of my own masterpiece I thank you for being worthy Inspired by the works of Kehinde Wiley Like the realism he captures, I attempt to copy But in my own signature & John Singer Sargent By setting the foundation, I able to build a new and add to you With my own Interpretation and melanin representation I thank you each for your creations, that sparked the inspirations that feed my imagination From my shoe box of paints to my colored pencils, I thank you too This whole image was able to come alive and shine through you Felicia F. (BHSEC Queens)Cuando mi abuela me habló en su lengua materna,
Recogí pequeñas partes de sus palabras. Tomé lo que estaba pensando Y creé una conexión de Ideas Frágiles En un lugar de Sin Sentido. Me gustaría hablar con ella con confianza en cada palabra, Pero no estoy en la condición correcta. Escucho el arte que habla y yo respondo con nada más que Sin palabras, Sin pensamientos, Sin ruido. Alguien me dijo, ¿Dónde está la verdadera Libertad? ¿Dónde está la Libertad? ¿Dónde? (Translation) When my grandmother spoke to me in her native tongue, I picked up wisps and pieces of her words. I pulled together fragments of her thoughts And crafted a bridge of Fragile Ideas Through a land of No Meaning At All. I wish I spoke to her with confidence in every word, But growing up on the other side of the bridge There is a level of Isolation in its condition. I hear the art she speaks and I respond with nothing more than Empty words, Empty thoughts, Empty noises. Someone tell me, Where is the real Freedom? Where is Freedom? Where? Brandon Lee '22 (BHSEC Queens) I came here when I was young
I bit my tongue, For I did not know English My learning was extinguished For I could not distinguish, I felt left out For I had many doubts, For I only had my aunt And the only thing I did was plant, I came here for a so called opportunity All I wanted to do was be a part of the community And know I’m separated from my family, I’m starting to lose my sanity All I can do is take bus and train I’m not a fan of this game For I am in reality…. Without my family Anonymous '22 (BHSEC Queens) She is in Los Ángeles
While I am trapped across the stupid frontera. Necesito cruzar al otro lado. Necesito a mi madre. But I'm only nine. No puedo cruzar. La policía va a agarrarme. I am alone. No puedo verla porque Ella me dejó. Ella no me recuerda. She doesn't love me. Forever under the same moon, La misma luna, I'm reminded that she won't come back. Leiel Mulakandov '22 (BHSEC Queens) Why would you ask that
What is your intention My hurt feelings Me crying and running away But, That’s not going to happen I’ve had enough Of you always assuming Always thinking I can hurt That I can explode That I’m hiding something Beneath my scarf That I’m hiding something that Can kill But I’m not But why, Why is it that when someone Dressed like me are Terrorist But someone like you are Mental Why are we considered Killers But you are considered Helpless Explain to me But you can’t Because you know I’m Right And once in your life you’re Wrong But don’t be upset Because I’m not YOU I don't want to hurt others With my words But, I help I help educate I help others to understand I help the poor So here I am Educating you Into waking up And realizing Society That you’re the only one criticizing While others are uniting WAKE UP! Habeeba Farid '22 (BHSEC Queens) |
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