Songs of Immigrants and Experience


In the cities, we migrating beasts huddle together,
Nobody wanting to be alone.

So we settle in shepherdless herds, we birds of a feather;
All of us searching for a place called home.

We won’t let go of the tales of our ancestors
Which meet our own stories, and become entwined.

We’re afraid to release these pieces of the past
For fear that we’ll leave our cultures behind.

But perhaps, in our struggle to water our roots,
We forget that we’re breathing our neighbour’s air.

The sweetest scent of all is in the flower of our meeting.
Home is to be found in the moments people share.

So the next time you feel you’re surrounded by strangers,
Grasping for support in a world full of changes,

Remind yourself that all of us yearn to belong - 
and wouldn’t it be nice to get on with the neighbours?


I think an alternative , slightly more tongue-in-cheek, name for the poem might be ‘White Flight’.

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