(Voice of a Broken Lineage)
Before your first cry kissed Florida’s air,
Two weary souls crossed oceans of despair—
Your parents, Cuban hearts in exile,
Arrived in 1956, not with riches,
But with hope wrapped in trembling hands.
They fled the storm, not to breed silence—
But to gift you a voice sharp as justice.
And yet, what song do you sing now,
Marco...
Continue reading...