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Immigration Samba
Tomorrow, I'm flying to New York City,
the red flower that opens in imagination.
Tomorrow, I'll board a direct flight to JFK.
I got my two suitcases packed
and my one-way ticket.
Tomorrow, I'll say goodbye
to all of this, my previous life.
I'll walk through the check-in tomorrow.
The sun will be bright and new.
I'll look at my parents standing behind,
quiet and dignified. Tomorrow,
the officer will stamp my passport,
look at me knowingly, and nod.
And I'll look back,
trying to hide my emotions.
It will feel like wings closing
and opening again.
Tomorrow, I'll join the immigrants' carnival
in the streets of New York City,
wearing only feathers and pain.
Tomorrow, I'll laugh with one eye,
cry with the other.
Tomorrow I'll fly to New York,
too close to the sun.
I'll flap my wings and burn.
I'll wear my carnival mask
so no one can see my emotions.
Tomorrow, I'll fly tomorrow
I'll fly tomorrow I'll fly
forever in New York City,
the carnivorous flower
in my imagination.
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