My name is Dave
Came to America and hopped on the wave At the time I couldn’t even shave Little did I know I was digging my own grave My heartfelt like a cave My momma told me to be brave A path I must pave A life I must save (Pause) Hear my story it’s my fable Crying out I’m unstable Thinking about the time I couldn’t sit at the white kids’ table Illegal it’s my label Cream cheese on my bagel I’m so poor I need cable Living this life.. not able Mahsud Hossain '22 (BHSEC Queens)
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We live our lives in hiding
But why? I’m not so sure We live our lives in fear Of someone walking through the door To take us far away Far away from home They’d leave us poor and stranded In a country not our own Anonymous '23 (BHSEC Queens) The screen always turns on during dinner when I can’t slip into my familiar room and the smell of good food covers up the urge for mama to buy the next ticket home. I am forced to watch different faces I used to know with his prominent baldness, her deep smile lines, and always a pair of dark eyes reminiscent of mine, slowly become old and repeat that I should come home. Out of habit I always smile, nod, then reassure, Soon. They will forever see my crying face at the airport, with braided pigtails, and an unwillingness to move. But they don’t remember hands waving goodbye, my too tired mama reaching out to grab my hand, and my older sister by her side, scared and confused. They couldn’t have seen blurry faces letting me go turning into an orange sunset above the clouds, into the warmth of mama’s lap, into waking up in New York City with colorful people moving at every pace and infinitely tall buildings. Lost through the screen is me, here, at home. Doris Chen '19 (BHSEC Queens)
He looks wary, The cloth around my head I am attacking him with cotton Made from the blood, sweat, and tears of my African brothers and sisters Sold by the tired ladies just trying to make a living on the streets of Jackson Heights He looks scared, The Arabic I speak. I am attacking him with words. Learned from my crying mother wishing her daughter would learn her mother tongue Forced upon me by the Saturday classes, where I was the youngest in the class He glances over to see my phone screen The music I listen to, I am attacking him by being American Playing is a bland song that charted the Top 50 last week Put on specifically to prove I am just like him. He shakes his head The reading I need to finish Thick, dense pages of difficult comprehension Put on full display for him to see He is scared. Of a young teenager Just trying to get to school Scared of me. On the 7 local train, Where I have sat next to a man Who I am scared of. Anonymous '21 (BHSEC Queens)
¿De donde vengo yo? Soy de Nueva York Mis padres son de Uzbekistan Pero en mi casa hablamos en ruso Tengo mucha familia En todo el mundo Están en Australia En Israel En Londres Y en América Entonces de donde vengo yo Soy de todo el mundo Deana'20 (BHSEC Queens)
What are you? I am Mexican. 3 simple words. With it comes tradition and superstition. You sit there spreading lies and we are hated by what you imply. I come from fiestas and mariachis, piñatas and maracas, sombreros and dresses. I come from guacamole and a variety of spices in my meals. Pan, arroz con leche It’s quite an appeal. I come from religious values and a moral code. Catholicism and faith. I come from la Virgen Morena and god. I am the creation of fine Mexican arts. Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. Clay pottery, embroidered cotton garments, colorful baskets with angular designs. I come from Aztec ancestry, Olmecs and Mayans. The empires they built and the reputation that precedes them. The creation of the calendar and telling time by keeping watch at the stars. I come from green, white and red. The beauty of the Spanish language Rolling my r’s, soothing lullabies and heavy accents. My spanish is rich, it is bathed with emotion and ties me back to my home. Each word warm like the sands of Cancún drowning with love as they sing a cheerful tune. I come from the many celebrations my people have every year Quinceañeras, Día de los Muertos and many more. I am made and represented by the eagle with a snake on its beak. I am the result of passion, love and the support of my people. The many legends that have been passed on for generations, the life lessons and the customs that have been so carefully embedded into me I was raised with a strict mom who tried her best to not turn me into a “malcriada” Tried to teach me what my abuela had taught her. Passed on all her rules and advice I too was taught to bite my tongue to avoid punishments from my mom I come from extended families, 10-12 children and old fashioned machismo customs I am the result of Spanish colonization and cultivation What are you? They ask. I am the minority you so strongly reject, the one whose culture you’ll never respect I am the one Lady Liberty has so rudely shut the golden doors on The one you have all been trying to keep out of your precious racist America for so long I am the one you claim and wrongly accused of bringing crime and rape The one whose long names you try so hard to abbreviate The one who washes your clothes, mows your lawn and does your dirty work But it’s okay ‘cause today I refuse to assimilate I choose to not let you uproot the beautiful plant of pride my parents worked so hard to nurture And I choose to never forget where I come from and where I belong America may be my motherland, but a Mexican is exactly what I am Nicole Mendez '21 (BHSEC Queens)
De donde vengo yo hay muchos problemas. Hay crimen, violencia y corrupción. Hay desempleo, pobreza, superpoblación, Un sistema de salud deficiente y mala educación. De donde vengo yo hay una rica cultura e historia. Hay festivales, celebraciones y música folclórica. Hay familias que comen arroz con curry juntos. De donde vengo yo la tradición es lo que une a las personas. Vengo del único país para luchar una guerra Y declarar su independencia sobre el lenguaje. Este lugar se llama Bangladés. Sarvia '20 (BHSEC Queens)
Picture a fast moving train Now this train isn't necessarily made for human transport Yet imagine me on top of it Not at age seventeen but at age five On top of my father’s shoulders Going at 100 MPH, moves five year old me Some have fallen to their deaths, while others have fallen and lost limbs Their arms, legs, and bodies are scattered all through the tracks, Yet the train is moving and I on top of my father's shoulders Continue to move at 100 mph The sun has fallen, Yet the train is still moving Leaving Honduras, my homeland, miles and miles behind The land I once deemed so beautiful While ahead five year old me doesn't know what awaits, Yet the train is still moving I’m resting by the side of my father On a life less wagon Holding on to me with full grip My dad and I continue our journey along the bones the heads, the toes, the arms and legs of those who had fallen short On their journey to a new home It’s morning time and we had arrived Not to our destination but to a stop Where a few locals have gathered some foods and essential for the migrants of this train Leaving me on top of the resting train My father like a stray cat fends to get the food the locals are planning to give away As if he had never left, he returns And we feast on what had only been agua and bread The trains moves again and so does five year old me on top of my father’s shoulders Once again Five year old me moves along the tracks which have buried the stories and dreams of many The tracks with the heads, toes, legs and arms of those who have fallen short Again we come to a stop, but this time not for food My father claims that my mother awaits at a bus terminal Eager five year old me is excited to reunite with the mother I had never seen Once on the bus, a woman with a baby in hand Reaches out to me with one of those Colgate smilies So bright and blinding was the smile of my mother Who hugged and kissed my cheeks as if I was going to be taken away No more train Yet there were bodies Because the trail with the heads and toes Arms and legs was far from ending Broken dreams and aspirations was now the road where the bus would travel Unsure of how things really work I recall being on top of my father’s shoulders again And being thrown over some wire wall While on the other side people and cars starred, as I stared back My little brother followed, so did my mother and father Over the fence we had gone Until the border patrol arrived Asking if we had permission to go, Or if we knew where to go Again I didn't know I was unsure, Yet we had overcome the road and train tracks with the bodies, heads, toes, legs, and arms Broken dreams and aspirations of those before us For they were now far gone As we walked on to the land we would call home New to this lands And its streets paved of gold We planned to live and fulfill our dreams To become what those who had fallen short couldn't be To have dreams and aspirations that are unlimited Together hand in hand We walk on to a land with hopes and promises To make new tracks and roads for ourselves Note from author: The poem above describes my journey, in other words how I arrived to the United States with my parents. I chose to share it here because it's important that stories like my own are told. Valentina Flores- College Freshman (Bard College)
My soul was flying high above my body. The smell of freedom and ocean in my nostrils. As a new life drew closer and closer. As my old life began to vanish far behind me. As I was now a new person. I was no longer bound and held down by my past. I no longer had to slave in the sun day in and day out. My new home was in New York. I would live loud and proud in New York. No more living in the shadows in New York. I would move fast and flag cabs. I would no longer wear rags. Rags to Riches. That’s my name. Living in all my fame. Here I am passing the big green lady I began to climb out of the sun, No longer shady Even though Agent Orange may be shouting build a wall. I am in charge of my own destiny And I will not fall. By: Jordan Hall (Bard Early College at Harlem Children's Zone Promise Academy) With this tale, as old as time
It begins with a family on a journey With origins as deep as roots of an oak tree It begins with a family on a journey America their destination for success They settled in a cargo ship, cramped, taking action for their dream Fourteen hours of a pattern of rocking, then stopping was a barrier for success A face turned to the sea, and watched the intense moonlight hit the gentle sea Finally they arrived and like a deer, were awe stricken Waiting on a line that took a day to reach the front, was all worth while, when all was said and had been done They assimilated to their neighborhood, where the same deer was stuck They settled in their house, when the sun was down and done Now the face that was looking at the sea is my best friend It seems more friends will follow this trend By: Darius Dorsett (Bard Early College at Harlem Children's Zone Promise Academy) |
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