To the walls of Cuba.
" To more than ten pressed million of Cuban by the dictatorship of the revolution of Castro and to the hundreds of thousand or countless disappeared ferrymen, to the streamlining, the political prisoners, etc., etc."

I had walls, transparent, with the moon and sun reflections;
water walls that surround my island and separate it of the rest of the continent.
I had walls, if, walls that were worse than the Auschwitz wire fences,
walls alive full of fish predators, so high and deep walls, that its move challenging the horizon.
Prisoner my people, my Cuba's country, by walls that simulate an infinite sky,
cached by the ocean in a piece of earth that moans by the freedom,
by the anonymous heroes and martyrs,
the men lives where the seed still sings and the palms
are silent because of the fear. I had walls, gray, blue and green,
and although today I do not contemplate those walls from my exile,
the remembrance drill the distant memory and any shout of desperation
it imposes pardon of death and forgetfulness.
I had salty walls, those walls, that when so many thousands of people
tried to cross it in one way or another, to flee from the hunger and the repression,
they, who were children, young men, women, old people,
they were shipwrecked, lost themselves eternally in those walls,
where the tourists Canadian and European, perhaps do not know
the palate of the oppression, and they celebrates their vacations
in those sunny beaches, meanwhile the Cuban people,
day after day, captives of the tyrant, without being able to emigrate,
nor to escape, they lies in silence surrounded by those walls
of the sea of the Caribbean.

By Luan Vidad.
Copyright, rights reserved by the author.