Poetry is a skill few possess. Faced with the ineffable, it’s best to abandon the pursuit of conceptual precision and ultimate analysis. The words that best describe the moment of tears or the surprise that Hope brings come from poets.

The one writing this doesn’t possess that gift. However, when trying to think about the beloved Cuban people, tormented by so many years and so many things, a few clumsy lines come to mind, which I share below:

The Cuban people awaken

with the sun on their forehead

and a bitter taste on the lips.

Pain walks by

through veins and arteries

Dry ducts yearning for kindness.

There is no bread on the table,

There is no light in the room,

silences that weigh heavily

more than the summer heat.

Withered hands

They share what little there is.

as at the Last Supper,

who senses the end.

The suffocation drags on.

tears membranes

but the restless heart

He knows that it is necessary to dream.

Dream, don’t get distracted,

resist without hatred,

sustain the soul,

do not give in to fear,

to walk with Hope.

Dreaming of congrí,

with honest work,

with a genuine smile,

and a sincere hug.

To dream with dignity

with bread and electricity,

with justice and brotherhood,

Facing the sea, look with faith.

That’s right, I’m looking for a way

Just don’t close your eyes!

I want to see through the shadows,

the certainty I sense,

the friendship that sustains me

And it gives freedom!

.

Wounded island, tender island,

Don’t sink:

keep the dream

that encourages you.

Don’t let anyone steal your future,

nor manipulate your past,

that no one ever claims

that the fight is over.

The ceiba tree in “El Templete”

It nourishes us from below.

That’s where the strength lies.

that we need today.

Neither Martí nor Varela

They built it themselves.

Disarmed beauty,

fragile, shy and discreet

be our salvation.

Amen.