IN CUBA I WAS A BULLDOG ... MY FATHER'S VOICE ...

In Cuba ... my father's voice ... for Papi ... Father's Day 2015  

by Amarilys Gacio Rassler    (Castro known by some as The Horse)                     

                                                                                                         

                                                                                          

 

In Cuba I was a bulldog                                                                     

Strutting around, king of my mound,

Worked hard for those bones

I counted upon to later be found,

Hid them safely under sacred grounds.

Ay, in Cuba this bulldog strutted around, king of his mound!

 

In Cuba I was a bulldog,

Until from the mountain

"The Horse" came down                  

To whip and scourge

And rape our towns,

To hammer us docile

Into droopy-eyed hounds.

So this bulldog left with embedded howls,

Though mouth, fear chained, to muted sounds.

Adios to bones and sacred grounds.

In America I became a hard working dog,

A German Shepherd.

Took care of my pack

Tried not to look back,

Was paid with few bones

And at times felt alone.

 

But, but, in America

I soon had small hill

Where to rest and be still.

To lift up my head

And be free and be heard!

No more muted sounds

But small king, with little mound,

Though few bones now to count,

Still proud of this my new sacred grounds.

Ay Dios gracias for America ... for America!