‘Dream Americano’


It’s only been a year in New Jersey,

And trust me, I already have understood,

There’s life even beyond all the despair in my hood’,

There’s life even after we are nearly kissed by death,

Time heals wounds, no matter how deep, time showers mercy…

Raised up tough in the Guatemalan Western Highlands of Chajul,

I belonged to a courageous family of fifteen,

Each one of them was a fighter in the truest sense,

They fought their way till their last breath,

But, they couldn’t make it past the East Mexican province of San Fernando,

I did have the opportunity to count fourteen heads lying away from their bodies,

Before I believe as I heard, the killers returned to deal them out a mass grave…

Refusing a drug cartel to transport their contraband across the border,

Showing courage to stand firmly against them,

Certainly, came with a price…


Leaving me only with memories of how we made it into Mexico,

Raging the perilous waters of the Usumacinta river,

We could fight away and murder at least a dozen of honor-snatchers and robbers,

We turned tides, escaped the criminal order,

Swam our way across the Mexican border,

We held hand in hand, caressed our sore feet,

Plucked leaves, cooked and ate atop our train,

Together we shielded ourselves against the wind and the rain,

We thought we’d made it, we’d left behind over 2200 miles,

All that we did not know,

For illegal immigrants, transporting illicit merchandise was the last test,

The final barrier on their gateway to paradise,

It was a compulsory part of the show,

In front of those drug cartels and their automatic American weapons,

To have the heart pounding, one had to bow…

Like a pack of wolves hungry, blinded by the smell of the last piece of meat,

With dreams of making it to the American fairyland,

A little over two hundred of us started from Guatemala for the U.S.A,

Glossy streets and glittery jobs, we’d heard of many a fortunes turning gold,

But, as they life has plans chalked out for you,

Even before you know…

I was the lone survivor out of my family of fifteen,

I was among the eight, the only ones that made it alive,

Out of the clutches of poverty,

Out of those gang ridden corn, coffee and coca fields for life,

It’s the price paid every year by millions of Latinos

Poor and helpless, all they know,

This is what it takes to dream ‘Americano’…