In a new land's cradle, whispers unfold; On blank pages, life's tales yet to be told. Through bustling streets with signs unknown, No job, no degree; in shadows, hope is sown. Learning language, where soft symphonies hum, As an immigrant within life's melody, I strum. In the labyrinth of worry, my heartbeat persists, A resume, dreams woven into endless lists. Foreign language, a brook's tranquil nook, Navigating verbs, an unexplored book. In the tempest of thoughts, solace embraced, A quiet park bench where dreams are retraced. Possibilities bloom like spring's vibrant throng, Whispers of hope in a new land, strong. Like a phoenix with dreams in its flight, An immigrant embraced by the city's light. Stars hang upside down, a foreign map; The moon, a stranger's eye in the inky gap. Dreams stutter in the language I can't speak, Will they bloom in daylight, or forever leak?
Source: The Immigrant’s Hum – Grounds For Hope








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