Echoes
I hear the echoes of my mother’s native tongue
In every measure
Salsa, mambo, bomba, Afro jazz,
The chaos of life reflected in the collide between
The brass section, that screamsssss to be heard, attencion! Rejoice!
The drums that are the heartbeat of life
Vida preciosa
The rhythm section that inspires elegant hip sways and pops
Going from congas to cowbells
Switching the tempo
Hyping up the rest of the orchestra
Strings, a distant but present melody
Telling a story behind the beat
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The vocals and lyrics are the frosting
Using the language and words spoken for generations
Never has the loss of what I never knew echoed so loudly
As when faced with a vibrant display of what we were separated from
The pride in the flag from the land you can name, where your people are from
May even still have people there you can touch and visit
A native tongue
A duality, you can swim in and out of effortlessly while navigating this land that attempts to strip away your culture
While you celebrate it and maintain it
The richness in colors and tradition
The stories
The names you can call
The flavors and food passed down…
All of this, echoes, like a distant memory
Of my own mothers native tongue
