Home is home. Language is language.

I try to catch the sun’s gleam through the window,
Giving my poem life, by snipping the fragile memory out with my scissors like brain,
And laminating the paper with the memory.

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My Journey to America

I looked back where I came from and I felt more responsible for why I came here and what I want to be. My courage was for good cause. My hope glimmered when I looked back and it was more for my career and my duty to the nation I came from than for personal material success that I found many of my friends were indulged in, and I felt sorry for the friends who suffered from selfishness, greed, and hypocrisy.