My dad was an immigrant.
And he was a champ.
My dad was an immigrant.
He would work hard day and night.
He would do all the odds to keep us happy.
My dad was an immigrant.
My dad was an immigrant.
He was a hard-working man, an engineer—he would experiment with colors and paints—
But he was an immigrant;
it was so hard for him to raise a family, but he would provide us with all kinds of amenities he could ever dream of.
My dad was an immigrant.
He would work so hard, day and night.
He would build a house, a car, and a stable business.
But my dad was an immigrant, and he couldn’t last.
Hard toils broke him.
He couldn’t enjoy the wealth.
He left us.
He left the world.
He left us behind without enjoying life.
My father was an immigrant.
He couldn’t afford any pleasure, securing our future.
My dad swallowed his dignity to build our life.
My father worked so hard, day and night, until he lost his lungs to all the lost time.
He would hide his pain.
He would hide his fatigue.
I remember he couldn’t sleep.
Because my dad was an immigrant and I feel so proud of him.
My father was a provider.
And, all we could do was become a divider.
My father was an all-rounder.
But we could all become losers.
My father was not an authority, and
We didn’t show him any mercy.
My father was a brave immigrant.
And, we lost him to destiny.
What a pity! What a pity!
My father was an immigrant, and we are his proudest children.
We can’t forget you, Daddy.
You meant everything to me!
So, here I declare—
I am an immigrant’s child!
My father was not an outsider.
My father was not a slave.
My father was a hard-working immigrant, and I am his proudest child!
©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy
Circa: 2023, Rokeya Hall, DU