The Us and Them Nation

The Us and Them Nation

A Story by Yangy

This is a political piece about the state of America


Their tortured cries fall upon deafened ears. Their tears bleed on empty promises and worn leather shoes. They endured treacherous waters in their small make-shift raft, starved of food and lacking in clean water. They’re freezing to death in clothes tattered from explosions, coated in the salt of the seas and sights they crossed. They’ve been scorched by the sun and the flames of the everlasting conflict that burn bright at their home, their skin covered in sweat and dirt from their fight for survival.


They come here seeking refuge from which was once their home, peace after a life of unending terrors and whistling bombs edging closer to their living rooms. A country that was once a beacon for those seeking the warmth of life is now a dying flame, leading moths in to be incinerated. The dirt swept off the flags that fell on the ground as a last dying attempt of false hope. The roses pushed back into the ground, where an unforgiving wall now stands. A million loaded guns on the border welcoming only those who can help, yet aimed at those who need it.


The few that manage to endure the anger-fuelled entrance to the land that claims to promise freedom are met with the hatred on the streets. A crossed flag dotted in stars, angry men throwing whatever they find at them to let their wrongly directed hate run free, freer than those searching freedom. The country’s leader endorses it, channelling his xenophobia towards them, he does not care for the decades of agony they somehow fought through. He cares for no tear shed, no bruise bursting out unless they’re upon the people like him. 


Their minds are almost as scarred as their bodies. A trillion live pictures of nothing but war engraved in minds that are too young to comprehend such pure hatred.  Cuts covering them from shrapnel and debris, crumbling homes and crumbling minds. Everything they once loved has been obliterated. They have no money, no insurance. Their lives have been entirely reset. They can’t pay the bills needed for their healing, they can’t afford food they’ve went weeks waiting for. They are merely human, people with emotions and needs but according to the masses, they still aren’t human enough for this land.


What good is hope in the country ran to the ground by the black boots of fascism? Crushed by the hate in the blooded fingers of Nazis. The rise of the Swastika in the so called ‘Land of the Free’ is reactionary to a foreign enemy, one of an unknown ideology, so they group them together as one. The hate grows like a tumour, it is the flaming axe crashing down upon the wooden splints holding them together. There is no Amerikanisch Dream. Just a foolish nightmare driving a divided nation further into oblivion.


© 2018 Yangy

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Added on July 17, 2018
Last Updated on July 17, 2018
Tags: Poetry, political, refugees, immigrants



Bathgate, West Lothian, United Kingdom

18 year old from Scotland that likes to write stories with themes, metaphors and imagery so deep that they will make you want to cry yourself to sleep. Also a fan of sweet chilli sauce. more..

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A Chapter by Yangy