America

Made from the Irish famine, And by Mexican imports, She lies in the hearts of the local and the foreigner, As this boundless land grows potato and corn To fill plates, which is the only mercy A migrant asks for in the first instance, And there is nothing to milk, From this new land, except…

Freedom

To every sanction or outright embargo There is a counter-movement. No one walks on the streets on curfew days Yet teenagers still play cricket, down empty alleyways. Embargos too, make life austere, Except for contraband that is sneaked through mules To a place, only the smugglers know. And sanctions, just like the disciplinary orders, Given…