An ICEy welcome: Treatment of immigrants in the US. Poems by – Mahip Rathore
Forward This is a compilation of poems that convey immigrant experience in US, shine light on the imbalances that exist in current US society, gives hope and inspiration for change and narrates both individualistic and collectivistic views about the phenomenon of immigration. As an international student I have lived an aspect of the overall immigrant experience, but I have read and empathized with other individuals whose experience as immigrant is quite different than me. I use my poetry as a platform to give voice to my individual experience as well as the experience of those who are not as fortunate as me to even have a platform where they can feel free to express what they have been through. This book is devoted to all those who have chosen the path of immigration for a better life but instead were subjected to cruelty and inhuman treatment. The poems are intended to remind or inform the readers about the feeling of imprisonment, suffocation and pain that is experienced due to unjust and inhumane immigration policies, and then tactfully direct the focus on invoking emotions of hope and liberation within the readers through poetic devices. As a poet I hope this book informs you about the immigrant experience and inspires to work towards a better world where no human is treated like an “alien�.
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Table of Contents
1. Story of an Alien (or human?) ................................................................................................................................ 4 2. Why do I choose to talk about my experience? ...................................................................................................... 5 3. Gandhi ..................................................................................................................................................................... 6 4. A moment of separation; an eternity of pain .......................................................................................................... 7 5. A Letter from ‘the human(ity)’ ............................................................................................................................... 9 6. I am from beyond borders and boundaries ........................................................................................................... 10 7. Go out and Vote! Because I can’t. ........................................................................................................................ 11 8. An Icy welcome .................................................................................................................................................... 12 9. The United states of Poetry................................................................................................................................... 13 10.Poet’s bio: ............................................................................................................................................................. 14
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Story of an Alien (or human?) With dreams of prosperity
But on 6th of July,
I came to this country
The safety said goodbye.
Only to find out that laws fluctuate from state to state,
When the laws were suddenly changed,
And my abilities barely impact the trajectory of my fate.
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The “legal” went away, only the ‘Alien’ remained.
They gave me new labels and a list of nouns, “Welcome Non-resident Legal Alien”, from now on you are – “Brown”. Without permission they defined my identity, The legal status gave me a false sense of security.
I lived in comfort, and felt the false security While roaming around with documents of legality. They often tell me – “you did it the right way” “If you come here legally, we have no problem”, they say.
I have watched my mouth, and lived in fear, Gave up my opinions for safety and career.
Photo by ConvertKit on Unsplash
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Why do I choose to talk about my experience? Because I have so much to say
Trying to scream and shout,
So much is going on
Trying to be free,
I can’t keep it in anymore
Trying to be… Me,
I must speak up, I must explode.
I must speak up,
I have been silent too long,
I must be the one!
Like a prisoner in a cage.
If this is darkness….
Enough of this oppression,
I must be the – Sun!
I am in RAGE!
Like a gulp in a throat, I am stuck. I see the last lifeboat, If not now… I am fucked!
I must speak up, I must express, Something is in me, Trying to come out,
Photo by - Ali Abdul Rahman on Unsplash
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Gandhi
“go back to the third class” I responded –
On June 7th of 1893,
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“Here is my ticket to the first class”
When South Africa was a British colony, To counsel a case-law, I took a train to Victoria With confidence and dignity,
Confused, and angry, he commanded me to get out. “I am an attorney of the law” “there are no colored attorney’s in South Africa” “There are no colored attorneys except me, you see”
I entered the first class. No degree, no words saved me, As I walked towards my seat, I noticed white folks staring down at me As if something is wrong, As if I don’t belong. I took my seat; settled down, Their faces, nothing but frown. After a distant chatter,
When Violence was used against me Never did I feel this naked before, My dignity shattered through its core. Like garbage I was thrown out of the train Not just body, my soul too felt that pain -
A day I will never forget for the rest of my life
And what I do from now on, the world will never forget for the rest of its existence!
Appeared a train conductor Mohan Das Karamchand He demanded –
Gandhi!
A moment of separation; an eternity of pain
Mid of June, in the middle of the night, Shocked and distraught, a 2-year-old child Mouth wide open in terrified cry, Eyes wet with tears, her lips are dry Traumatized and impatient, She looks at the border patrol agent, Who searches the immigrant mother For crossing the Texas border
With fear in eyes, and questions in mind, A moment captured in time, Her eyes longing for reunion With her source: her mother Who birthed her, cared for her Just a few seconds of separation, Left her distressed with desperation. Sketch by - Mahip Rathore and Photo editing by Tanay Rathore
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Her cries were heard at least,
This is the story of one child who was NOT taken away,
When her mother was released.
But what about the 2000 and more, separated from parents in April and May?
But the trauma of separation, A few seconds of desperation, Will last for eternity, Each time she will lose her sense of security.
Photo by Mitchel Lensink on Unsplash
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A Letter from ‘the human(ity)’
Through constitutions and governments, Through morality and laws,
Hello system,
Through organized religions you accomplished the cause.
I hope you are doing okay. Just wanted to write to you. I have few words to say. Hey System, Who came first, you or me? Without one another can we be? I created you from what I remember, To serve me, to fulfil my purpose. To make the world more efficient, To allocate resources, To govern the masses. To reward the goodness, and punish the evil,
If you are the product of my creation, If your purpose was to serve me, Why am I the servant? If your purpose was to protect me, Why am I the victim? Why am I dying, while you keep growing? Why am I in cages, while you roam free? Why am I the ‘illegal’, when the law itself came out of me?
To serve me, and not the devil. Hey System, I created you to get things done. I brought you to life, Through social contracts, Through policies, and codes of conduct,
who came first, you or me………?
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I am from beyond borders and boundaries
“Go back to where you came from” -
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But where do I come from? From a house and family? From a street called gully. From the womb of a mother, From cold winter and hot summer. From grass that’s outgrown, From a place called home. Isn’t that where you come from? “Go back to where you came from”But where do I go back to? To the donut, apple and coffee? After digestion they all became me! So, I go back to sugar, fiber, and water, Or do I go back even further? The more I go back into the essence of my origin, The less I define myself with the color of my skin. The more I go back from where I came from, The more I transcend the definitions, shapes and form. In this transcended place there is no other to love or hate, Is that the reason they called it a United State?
Photo by Breanna Louise on Unsplash
Go out and Vote! Because I can’t. An Immigrant This year on November the third, Make sure your voices are heard. Go change the face of the government, Put humanity first, like its meant!
When you cast your vote, later this fall, Don’t plant the seed in a concrete wall. Choose love over greed and power, Be the sunlight for glooming flower. Choose people, not the stock market, Feed the hungry, not rich man’s pocket.
The world might stink, when you see the news, Events of the day might blow your fuse. But don’t let that stop you from doing the right thing, Photo by Jennifer Griffin on Unsplash
Change is just a step away; I heard a little bird sing.
So, go sing that song; cast that vote, Do it despite of that gulp in your throat. Do it because you can, And do it because I can’t……..
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An Icy welcome (Poem inspired by Art Spiegelman's "A Warm Welcome," 2015) Page | 12
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free� Says the statue of liberty. But, why would I?
So, you can tire them some more Make them poorer than before, Huddle them in cages? Kill them in stages? Hunt them like prey, Take their kids away, Hysterectomize the women Without their permission. Are you the symbol of liberty and justice? Or beneath the disguise lies a surprise Underneath the warmth you are just - ICE
Photo by tom coe on Unsplash
The United states of Poetry Poetry is not about exclusion or boundaries or walls.
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It is about openness, inclusion, immersion: immigration. Poetry follows no rules no laws, or structure out of force or habit. Poetry follows love, freedom, expression, inclusion, creativity and flow. The reader sees structure and style in poetry, but none of that is intended. Poet writes from a place that is free, boundless, stateless, undefined, unwalled, open to all. If you wanna be a poet, you can. It is open to all. There are no borders, no wall. There is no need to immigrate to access the poet in you. You do not need a passport or visa to visit poetry. It is no ordinary country.
Photo by Rochelle Brown on Unsplash
Poet’s bio:
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Mahip Rathore is a lawyer turned therapist & meditation teacher. He is completing a PhD in Counseling Psychology from Tennessee State University. His research is focused on the practice of mindfulness and the experience of self-transcendence. Meditating, giving therapy, cooking Indian food, writing poetry during morning walks, and making abstract paintings are essential aspects of his spiritual practice. He believes that poems come to him from a transcendent place, and poetic expression is a spiritual phenomenon for him. He grew up in central India and is currently residing in Nashville, Tennessee with wife Lena Sclove. Photo by – Richard Sclove
