Boricua

The souls are lost in a lament world

The Cries of Yimaya through a purple haze

Drum beats to the rhythms of change

Coconut milk spilling from indigenous lips

Ocean smells upon dampened skin

Forgotten sugar cane with the cracked whip

Taino purity mistaken for ignorance and barbarianism

Wives and mothers turned into whores within the grip of pale skin

Hues of crimson and gold fading into a cold new steel machete

Tears of an almost forgotten past, rich with sun gods

Opening the regal doors to fake caballeros who lust over brown skin

Cilantro’s heavy fragrance lingering in a mist of misunderstood stones

Sounds of crackling fired which burned native blood.

A race faded in a new Castilian rule but never lost amongst the souls of the new,

Boricua always shall I be, with and without the ocean, or language of my people

Spoken upon my silent tongue

Always shining through the retina of my castaños eyes

Constant in my wavy hair and immersed sabor within my hips

Boricua across the seas and on foreign soil

Not Spanish, ni ingles

Simplemente Boricua……….