The Adapted Child.

Oh warm summers rain,
wash away from me the
confusion of not knowing
who I am,

Speaking in a foreign
tongue, that thunders in
my brain, not letting me see
through, to who I will become,

Oh rain!
you pour down on me stirring
storms of images that spill
from lips in two vivid tongues,

I hear the rhythm that frolics in
my head, in vibrant colors saying,
you are Arawok, Black, Spanish,
and Americano,

This struggle rages in me to
become something more than
what I am, citizen of different
lands, trying hard to find where I
can stand,

Oh rain!
You have created a river deep
inside of me, that runs south
from my brain down to my very
loins,

Is this the raging blood of my
new beginning, burning and
fusing me, or trying to make a
division at the center of it all?

I turn my face up to the pouring
rain, a scream come out of me,
echoing as if I was standing in
an empty hall,

Why do you torment me with
these images of sandy beaches,
and coconut trees, of Mango's
and Avocados dancing on trees,

Of  quiet nights listening to the
sound of lullabying Coqui's,

New images appear, of sirens
screaming through the night, the
underground transport, and the
beautiful Empire State,

and a sea of yellow cabs come
rolling down the wide streets,

In the war that raged inside of me,
Peace and Unity have prevailed,
finally finding my proper place,

Creating the adapted child that I've
become,
lover of America,
son of the Cari-be-an!