Immigrants Poem by Elena Sandu

............................................................................................................................. Elena S(*_*) ⋅ 26 September 2012

The immigrants


However beautiful and kind
All places for the Uprooted be
One's soul would keep calling home
The land which gave it life
and food, to him (or her) ,
as little child. When old,
Pure truth! The memory of bones
Would yearn for their land.
People could have their skin dressed,
creamed soft or pierced, or tattooed
They could have the brains filled
with -n spoken languages,
or emptied, washed pure and clean.
In spite of all kind
of treats, makeovers,
most of the 206 bones
of a human skeleton,
not ever could be changed.
The bones are tiny grains,
part of their mother land.
Heritage proof for as long
as on this world
could run walk or stand.
And at the end, each soul
Let's hope some of its grains
Could catch the winds
To fly back at own fields.