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153 WE THE MIGRANTS Alexander Opicho We are coming to America Clothed in a message of humanity In no scarlet hue to snag your bliss, But times on our side hurl us unto your Mothers’ hearth, open up your inglenook For us to bask with your sires and kin In the warmth of your aureate provisions, America! America! Be the last to panic On the sight of passels and throngs of Otherness; dark skinned visitors and Turban wearing strangers of Persia, Usher them in and wash their feet Free from the dust of their journey, They are angels from God’s bosom, America! America! Be the last to panic We migrants are coming to the North, As your ancestors in a dint Of heroism and Imperial thrust came But in a style to the South of the yester times, We took them in, to our ante-chambers, The gods they carried we fondly pampered Till they usurped the turf of our native piety, No name derogatory they earned from our lips But praise and glory was their clean harvest Your gods became our gods; as your tongue Ate away our tongues, to reserve nothing But the lead over all we had by then, Your foremen became our masters not our slaves You were our visitors not refuges, 154 You were in the palace not in the camp, Your were in the posh homes of your choice Not in the mire behind barbs of the wire, America! Europe! Be the last to panic We the migrants are coming to your yards, Tunnels and wires and barricades of your guard Fetter not our will in motion to mother America, Gunshots, detentions, hatred and bigotry deter Us not to the land of your ancestors Today we shall sleep in the blizzards of Russia And in the winters chills of Britain we’ll bivouac, Clad in cosmopolitanism of human diversity As a letter of love to your keen lovely heart That your sons and daughters you left over In Africa, South America and Australia are all well, They now reign Africa as white Africans, They now rein South America as white Americans They now reign as the white Australians, You too give us your virgins and strong lads We sire the black and Arabic Americans Fear not blackness and Islam Them are aren’t the last wonder, America! America! Be the last to panic The migrants are coming to your ante-chambers, Comely it is you open the doors for the estranged, From their wood, their gold and diamond, All snatched from them as subjects of her colonies, When slumber and farting was the swag then Lo, beckoned you are by justice to accept live in otherness, America of pure Anglo-Saxons, Slavs and Arians Has gone with the sorry winds of globalectic history, Accept the migrants as your timely visitors 155 Live with them and die with them. ...


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