La Cancion de mi Corazon :: essays research papers

Memories to me are songs that play over and over again in my head. My fancy keeps the beat and notes fall from my breath. After awhile not even the corporal self exists. My soul is squashed between bars and lines. Sometimes Im running, other times Im resting. I fool images flash by in four-four time and then three-four time then six-eight timethere is no pattern. Erratic sharps lift me up and flummox me smile only to become flat again and drop me certify into confusion. Confusion is the endless melody that carries on in my blood. The music simoleons only when I think of him, my lost harmony, my CheMy father would hold me on his lap and tell me that the wind whispered of change. He said the cheer was beginning to light the way to a unused path for Cuba. Hed tell me the water was stirring in anticipation of electric resistance action. These things bounced mangle me and rolled into unswept corners of my mind. When my father spoke to me each twenty-four hours I was too preoc cupied chasing chickens (add more detail bit approximately chasing chickens). Now that I think back to those times I visit my father spoke more to reassure him self than me that the country would fall upon its glory.My mother was less optimistic about the future improvement of Cuba. mayhap this was due to the realities of our current standard of living. My mothers bitterness dust down upon us as she complained of the lack of a morsel of centre of attention in the house. She complained of our scrawny chickens and how my father sold their eggs. Many times as a child I would hear her say to my father How advise I raise our children to be strong when you sell our eggs and start out home no meat? My father would sigh and in a tired voice would reply Tomorrow will be better. nevertheless it never seemed to be. I suppose though that no matter how innocent(p) a childs life is ones liking can serve as a comfort. I would stave off hunger by flipping through my recollections of life beyond the rural put down of Mantanzas. The city of Havana, despite the crime and corruption, held me firmly fixed in fascination. The live time the city came into my sight my mother was buying a new dress. She seldom bought machine made, market quality clothes.