Rows of immigrants lined up in front of hangers

Immigrant joys and sorrows, black, white and brown

Audible tears in their pockets; side bags full of memories of a faraway land,

Of childhoods spent in two-storied buildings in Beanibazar or Gowainghat, Sylhet

Self-confidence shaken, some shattered memories in their side bags

One or two dreams held on to and still polished…

Of a boy holding his head six and a half feet high on a Harvard stairway,

And a daughter with a stethoscope on her neck, paycheck running into six digits,

so bright, so dazzling!

But at present? A damp, dank basement, sleepless nights weighed down by dreams

Such are our diasporic delusions.

Quazi Johirul Islam is a poet who is currently residing in New York due to a job posting in UN Headquarters.