We have always had to explain our thoughts and our ideas to those who don't speak our tongue. We had to translate words like bueno or salam to each individual who crossed our paths, particularly those who could not pronounce our names. It is this transition of our complete tongues into broken words that makes it difficult for my mother to speak to her son. My mother who cannot read these words that carve the edges of English for her sake. My mother who doesn't want to leave her community that brought a piece of home and nestled it just between the end of Brooklyn and the start of Queens.

This is our stop, our temporary place, where our music is blasted, our voices speak volumes, and our hearts stay calm.

All of this prevents me from sharing my unadulterated thoughts to people I share the same path with.

It appears that not only are the words we speak different, but the way the sun kisses our skin differs as well. My thousand shades of caramel and yellow and your deep tones of brown - blend in pools of women and men, all traveling similar routes.

Even still, a man a few shades deeper, with a nose two centimeters wider - leaves our route on another journey. His words were not broken, nor was his home elsewhere. His home was stripped when he left his path.

Yes, this man - his name sounds like the very color he wears so richly on his skin, his death was publicized like a slave who committed a sin; yet we still say things to one another - like "#alllivesmatter."

That is not the the melody of a brother, but a privileged man who can't see color.

Her accents and his bed of corn rows are not welcome in this holy land. A place too pure for the blackest bodies to bleed with dignity, a place too blessed to see immigrants finding opportunity.

So we are left to wonder, is it the sound of immigrants that makes us unable to settle in a land that is not our first- or is it the color that births us into this divided world?

We sit peacefully on this journey, to work, to university, or to meet a friend. Unexpectedly, we see others share our trip, with no words exchanged, nor glances passed. Just silence between souls, stillness between hearts, but acknowledgement that no matter what distance exists between others and us - we will never harmonize our tunes, for our sounds are to remain on mute.