Pain is like winter, cold and bleak
Immigrant is a bare tree
To survive it shook off
all the leaves of hope leaving only dismay.

Pain is the baby’s toy
Baby throws it for pleasure
Mother keeps picking it up,
putting it back
To keep him entertained.

Pain is a poem
Immigrants need to sing
For listeners it’s a horror
Immigrants are their pain

Pain is rain
The hotel is a broken umbrella
A shelter, but not a shelter
They are soaked and wet anyway

Pain is salt
Sprinkled on immigrant snails
To suck all juices out 
before they reach
their vegetable patch of safety

by Aruni McShane

In her poetry and essays, Aruni shares her own journey towards independence and a renewed sense of identity. Her new publishing, Purity and Hope: The Journey of Aruni McShane is now available for purchase.