Category: Poetry

by Elena Hayashi

Maybe it’s the cicadas

bustling in the air loudly, and proudly

presenting their voice, sparking curiosity.

Their melody—

not just a sign of the scorching summer sweat trickling down

my body—

but a reflection of the miscellaneous voices around me

that arise once the heat arrives.

Heat—Wind.

Cicadas—Seagulls.

Maybe it’s the seagulls

squawking by the docks loudly, and proudly

its cries carried by the restless wind.

Maybe it’s the cicadas, no—the seagulls

a new echo of curiosity,

adapting to the rhythm of this new life.

by Lu-Ann Pade

La nuit dernière tu m’es apparue en rêve.

Tenant dans tes mains l’étendard de la trêve,

Tu as signé l’armistice de cette guerre,

Triste reflet d’un combat solitaire. 

Comme une mère, tu m’as serrée dans tes bras,

Tel un linceul, marque de cette lutte qui s’effrite

Et qui meurt en même temps que mon embarras,

Marquant la fin de cet ère en laquelle tu étais proscrite.

D’où viens-je, qui suis-je?

Autant de questions ayant l’odeur du châtiment, 

Dressées sur un autel qui exige

De renoncer à son assentiment.

Alors laisse moi te vénérer.

Hurler en tous les mondes,

Plus acharnée, plus furibonde,

Que tu es celle qui porte mon passé, notre présent et leur futur.

Que le soleil qui se lève sur tes flancs,

Est celui qui m’a vu naître un matin.

Que ces peuples de l’Orient,

Que tu a accueillis sont les miens.

Fille du feu, des plaines et de la mer,

Fille de cette terre érigée d’un cratère,

Bénie par toutes les religions,

Péi de toutes mes passions.

This poem reflects on how I used to be ashamed of where I come from, how I used to discard it and paint my identity as having none. 

It is also about how I gave up on this act. 

Back home every fall, birds migrate and come home in the spring. They leave because they can’t stand the harsh circumstances of winter and would much rather have better conditions somewhere else. They come back home when they can when the weather is better and life continues. It’s a natural and understandable part of nature, because who really would want to stay in a place that’s not hospitable?

Not to say that humans are birds and that birds are humans but why is it that when a person wants to leave an inhospitable place, other people aren’t as understanding? We stand in different lands but the skin and bones and blood and lineage connect us all. Yet when it comes down to it, the differences are “we”, the ones that are far away from “them”, often choose not to help, talk or even worse, look down upon. Migrating to a new country as a part of the “we” is cool and fun and worthy of a new opportunity but when “they” come, our politicians and public opinion regard it as an annoyance or stealing our social services and taxes. Yes, many people choose to migrate and freely do so but some people don’t have it as a choice. At what point do “they” become “we”. At what point does migration for humans have the same natural view as the migration for birds? Realistically, at what point do the impacts and urbanization of “we” stop using “them” to be better? Realistically at what point do we put a stop to what’s happening to “them” so that one day they can go home and have a better opportunity? Why is not wanting to stay in a harsh environment not understood by humans but it’s understood by birds? The biggest difference is that birds don’t seek refuge when they migrate, but instead get to go back home when their environment is better. Imagine if birds stayed south and never came back north, one land would be full while the other is sparse. Well, “their” environment doesn’t truly ever get better, that’s when “they” become we and we all sit together, one land with all of us and one land with no one left. Look I’m not saying that all migrants should go back to where they came from but I among many as children of migrants and refugees would love to go back to our parents’ home, our ancestral home. Unlike birds, migration doesn’t mean having the ability to go back home once a harsh environment is gone. Sometimes it never goes away. Let’s be honest here, migration is a word that has multiple definitions depending on the circumstance but why is it that depending on where or what you are, we unfairly judge the reasons behind it? This many questions make me want to go home, wherever home may be.

Read more: Wherever Home May Be

By, Humshinee Kalaiselvan