Dear Mama was a refugee.
Escaping the jungles to be free.
Not even bullets can pierce a whole through the love for her family.
And these plastic bags, landmines and guns,
meant to suck the life and shatter the limbs of those who run.
WHY OUR PEOPLE? WHY THE SCREAM?
Humanity, feeds the nightmare that haunts their dreams,
through all the politics and the schemes, and the chains that made them bleed.
All of these images are running through her head,
they say the opposite of fear is love, so she’ll run with that instead.
Sweat after sweat, she waited for the golden sun to set.
Couldn’t lose another two, her sons Pira and Pirak.
From the stories I hear, they screamed out “She’s alive son she didn’t leave you behind!”
My mami, the jungle warrior, she cradled her son to that finish line.
Dear Mama, I learn from the best
I hear the stories of you dodging bullets while holding me in the projects.
Call it cocky, call it conceited and call it what you will,
but i was raised in the arms of a Cambodian queen so boy please refrain from the words that degrade me still.
Treat me with respect, I am a reflection of my mother’s existence.
Just like you, you, you and every woman that graces this earth.
If you feel what I feel, we were not meant to be born a still birth.
SO TO MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS,
Inscribe the words and turn the pages of your own book,
WE ARE THE CHILDREN OF CAMBODIAN MOTHERS
feel inspired, our history is to heavy to be overlooked.