… Is Fidel’s breathing.
Those quick steps of the people running to work are Fidel’s steps.
That cheerful voice of children’s in school
that pointing hand
that finger that accuses
that fertile soil under the nails
are the joy, the hands, the fingers of Fidel.
That watchful pupil on the border
that knee that does not bend
that force that does not cease
is the pupil, the knee, the strength of Fidel.
Ideas are more immortal than the gods.
Fidel is made of ideas.
We are Fidel.
The children saved in the world
Those who shook the American boot
Those who were at last free
Those who face the market
Those who do not let themselves be seduced by the colored beads, the ones we follow,
We are forever, Fidel.