We count the days of homelessness
In terms of tears and blood. Gallons
And gallons of tears and blood that
Go with hoping and forgiving,
Dying and living anew,
In symbols and metaphors,
In sweet sorrow and sad song.
We don't give up, like the ironies
In our work in Calabasas or the pains
Of remembrances in the care homes
That never listened to our dawn sobs.
These places are witnesses
To our coming. We arrive in droves.
With innocence in our lips,
We present the cancelled tickets
To cancel our tourists' trips.
At our ports of entry, the knowing
Look of guards connive with our guts
And another day of migrant's life
Come to merrily, merrily claim us.
Aurelio S. Agcaoili