For My Father

Enormous respect overflows
when she remembers the stories
etched into the bones of your past.
The stories of persecution,
of exile,
of beginning again
with nothing
but your name
and your unshakable dignity.

You were denied the simple foundations
she now calls ordinary—
safety, culture,
the right to worship in your own way,
to speak in the tones and rhythms
of your ethnic tradition
without fear.

Because of your color,
your faith,
your history,
you were stripped of your homeland.
Forced to leave behind
the comfort of your customs,
the sound of your people,
the sacred rituals of your ancestors.

They took your homes,
yet your pride endured.
They burned your roots,
yet your resolve deepened.

She reveres you
because you stood tall
when silence could have been easier.
You carried your family forward
on the strength of your vision,
guided by a faith in freedom
that refused to flicker.

With only four hundred dollars,
you began again.
You departed from everything familiar.
No photographs.
No heirlooms.
No tangible trace of the land
that shaped you.

Only your soul remembered.

And still,
you pressed forward.
Three immigrations,
five foreign languages,
years of quiet resilience
stacked like bricks
into the walls of a new life.

You rebuilt with grace.
You released the past
without erasing its meaning.

Today,
you raise the American flag
with clarity and pride.
Because this land
welcomed your labor,
your spirit,
your unshakable belief
in what could be.

Your sacrifices are seen.
They were entire lifetimes
folded into silence.
They were heartbreaks
transformed into future joy.

She carries them now
with reverence.
She bows at your feet
for showing her
what courage truly means.

And you remained with trust all along
that you would thrive
in a country you call home today
with pride and honor.