While an airplane flying above the clouds over the American sky,
I, on the plane, get lost on the plane of imagination.
I question: How many times might have our politicians,
Whom I, my grandmother, we elected to rule us, flown on such planes
Over American skies, European skies,
The skies for which the faces of people like me,
Like the faces of the politicians’ children line up in front of the visa centers and
Those faces return exhausted, poor, and lost when the visas are denied?
To fly over such skies,
They borrow cash with higher interests and pay it to the Manpower and
Leave abroad for labor jobs. With them, they carry a fragile future
That becomes a curse, and
Only tears and wails return to their homeland in a closed casket.
Some of them make it to the Gulf of Mexico; some of them manage to swim;
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