Speaking of independence
You must be some island ...
that you fill the hearts of so many so far away
with dreams of shimmering waters and a thousand sweet fruits
It must be some magical caribbean night
that gushes salsa up to the stars and back down to Division Steet into that bombastic trombone known as Willie Colón
It must be some fancy fruit-filled pastry you concoct
that your bakery-in-exile sells out of them by ten every morning leaving hundreds without their sugar fix, with anguish and despair
It must be some forbidden pleasure
that makes so many want to pillage your land
and send you away for having known its secrets
It must be some perverse logic
that keeps sending your children far away from home
to a land that wants to vanquish them without leaving a trace
You must be some island
that your children will never stop longing
and fighting to set you free
