A migrant

The three dreams of every young boy, they say,
Is to build a grand house and to marry one day.
But the greatest of dreams that they hold in their heart,
Is to drive a fine car right away from the start.
To achieve all of these, you need money so grand,
Once you turn seventeen, you must leave for a land—
Off to Russia you go to make all of it real.
Go ahead, build a skyscraper, high as you feel,
But while working abroad, far away from your dome,
You will truly perceive the deep value of home.
It is hard in a strange land, with heartache and tears,
Those who stayed in their homeland don't know of these fears.
Life is strange, and our fortunes are scattered afar,
Just be sure that you labor right under your star,
With the sweat of your brow and an honest desire.
Until you taste exile, you won't fully find,
The depth of your faith and the peace of your mind.
You won't yearn for the soil of the motherland sweet,
Nor feel the deep boredom on every strange street.
This old proverb is true, it speaks clear to the core,
May all migrants stay safe on that faraway shore.
May the money you earn with your sweat and your hand,
Bring you blessings and joy in your own native land.
May each traveler return safe and sound to their home,
May they never again have a reason to roam.
Let them sit at their table and peacefully eat,
The pure bread that they earned, making life truly sweet.