Cuba, My Country, My Love
Cuba, my country, my love.
Morning arrives carrying the scent of salt, strong coffee, and wet fishing nets spread across the sand. An old boat waits for the tide the way a man waits for one more chance.
The palm trees do not speak.
They do not need to.
The light says enough.
I have seen harbors in many places, but none has ever held the sun the way this island does. None has made failure into a form of dignity, nor hope into the work of every single day.
Cuba, my country, my love.
If I must ever leave, may the wind remember my name only long enough to carry me home again in thought.
For there are lands one visits, and there are lands that never leave the heart.
The sea will go on breathing.
The fish will go on fleeing. Men will continue casting their lines.
And as long as the horizon exists, this love will exist also—steady as the dawn, as deep as the water.
Cuba, my country, my love.
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