By JUBERT CABREZOS
From the moment I cried in the airport,
Seven years have passed
But I still cry that you’re not home.
I am forced to learn a little about basketball
Without you.
Seven years have passed
And mama was still trying to be a father
While cooking our favorite adobo.
I am forced to learn how to deal with women
Without you.
Papa, I’m a man now
But I still cry for you’re not home,
You who realized the institution of the family
And sell blood and sweat
In exchange for our education
And rice to eat.
Papa, I’m a man now
For seven years have passed.
I am your son,
Seven years have passed,
And now I know
That I am the son of this soil as well.
I do came from your balls
But I’m a man now.
I had my own balls
And became a revolutionary.
For you papa
And all the fathers of this soil,
I became a man
That promised our grandchildren
Never to be away again from their fathers
Ever again.
Seven years have passed
And I am now a revolutionary
But I still cry for you’re not home.
Happy Father’s day, papa! 
