Another hurricane. Again.
Cuba “attacked” again.
Another hurricane. Surge.
Gales. Rain express.
A category 3.
“Melissa.” Sound name.
Again the terrible chorus
of Aeolus and his Isobars.
Black clouds. light shadows.
Do I pray? Singing? River? Cry?
In Santiago, Holguín, Guamá,
in Sagua, in Segundo Frente.
Once again, Cuba, your East,
your humble people who are
pretty beaten already
He is a victim of a cyclone.
An entire nation prays
that before I didn’t even know how to pray.
There is a hurricane of empathy
in the same direction.
I see photos. I shudder.
A man. A television.
More of a flying roof.
A Dantesque panorama.
“Shall I go to bed?” “What if I don’t wake up?”
Rain of worries.
It’s not just the cyclones.
It’s the water. It’s the food.
How hard life is.
The crisis. The blackouts.
Melisa is the last straw
of the famous full glass.
Are we alive? Excellent
but life how broken.
Photos. Videos. It shows
the tiredness of the people.
painful cruelty
with the city of Guantánamo.
The same in Sagua de Tánamo,
the same throughout the East.
Before the fist of a cyclone
that stands out for its strength
to the plate more plate
It appears to be cardboard.
There are no retaining walls:
tiles and bricks fly.
There are no streets or paths left
that have not been swallowed
by the waters. Flooded.
Light with mud in the pockets.
The flying rails.
The pieces of concrete.
Space with net weight.
Gross weight of hours.
The working hands
They couldn’t do anything.
We saw the rivers rise
and fear grows with them.
Wind attacks.
Abuses of evil rain.
The pain in dribs and drabs.
How many fallen trees.
All rivers swollen.
Broken streets and walls.
The sea threw curses
of salt and saltpeter and iodine.
Poor people who have lost everything
minus his own poverty.
Humility and sadness
working side by side.
What a bitter experience.
Everything is covered in shadows
“On October 29
“It’s been a long night.”
East on your shoulders load
today a deep silence.
Just one photo, one second
to understand where we are
(because sometimes we forget
that we are from the Third World).
nature returns
to prevail in the Caribbean.
Almost no one survives
to his great strength.
Jamaica and Haiti. Sadness.
Cuba. Sadness and pain.
A man. A television.
The water. The wind. Life.
Sometimes we forget
that being alive is the best.
But also the Cubans
We demonstrate again
that the exercise of loving
redeems us as humans.
Today we are all brothers.
Major consanguinity.
(A man. A television.)
Aylín and Dr. Rubiera
raining all night
valuable information.
The royal palms cry
solid green tears.
There are thick and stolid drops,
long, cold, insane.
Tocororos and thrushes
They dress in mourning and complain.
Green lizards leave
your clothes in case the flies.
Dreams that go away.
Puddles that reflect poorly on us.
Helicopters. Rescues.
Portraits of helplessness.
Today everything smells like an emergency.
If you see a river don’t try
to cross it. Nonsense,
the minimums, please.
horror movie
Liquid storm thriller,
isobaric, fluvial.
Melissa: horror cinema.
Mellisa made it seem
to Sandy a little boy.
Serial killer caribbean,
hurricane with such power
destructive must see
the photos and meditate.
The videos and imagine
what happened to our people.
Mellisa left and it was urgent,
the only urgent thing: help!
Let’s donate a little of everything.
Let’s donate what we can.
Let’s donate what we have left.
Let’s focus on this.
Let love go crazy
and whip without rhyme or reason.
May empathy and union
of all hearts
show the cyclones
that this is also a cyclone.
Blankets. Shoes. Meal.
Clothes and medicines.
Whatever. They are moments
in which “the other” is forgotten.
Let’s breathe life into life.
Let’s put interior light
and tons of love
in containers of empathy.
Cuba as always, my island,
your pain is my pain.
What matters is what matters.
Let’s join shoulders and elbows
Let’s stop the car “everyone”
and let’s turn the light on.
Each neighbor reports
his hurricane experience.
“Life is worth nothing.”
If I ignore that the hurricane
knows where the alligator is
and prepare another trap.”
We have so much experience
in facing hurricanes
they are little titans
the children of this emergency.
We are not talking about resilience.
We talk about poor people
who drinks the briny sip
of a precarious existence
despite the eternal prayer
to the Charity of Copper.
Georges, Charley, Dennis, Michelle,
Gustav, Ike, Sandy, Irma:
all with the same signature
cruel in nature.
Ian and Óscar and Rafael:
criminal hurricanes.
And also the tropical ones
depressions in the area:
Philippe, Arthur, Ida, Fiona
so strong, so natural.
And Andrea, Isaiah, Fred.
And Laura and Elsa and Julian.
And Alberto and Gastón and Sam.
And Nate and Cyclone Odette.
Let’s not forget Claudette,
another tropical cyclone.
That! Than the natural
is that the cyclones continue,
hurricanes, depressions
in its seasonal cycle.
Let the donations come!
Thanks to everyone who contributes!
What matters is what matters.
Let the donations come!
In trucks or on planes
Tons? Forward!
Kilograms? It’s enough.
Pounds? Ounces? How well given!
The important thing is what is donated.
Not the donor’s signature.
I have seen pictures of Haiti
and videos from Jamaica.
A prosaic conclusion:
It hasn’t been that bad here.
Huge destruction, yes.
But at least my countrymen
my neighbors, my brothers,
The roads still follow.
Not the poor Jamaicans.
Not the poorest Haitians.
Today we are all from Las Tunas
born in other places.
We are all insular
Granma, Guantanamo
holguineros, santiagueros…
All equal Cubans.
Central and western
from San Antonio to Maisí
In moments like this:
We are all oriental.
Guantánamo, Holguín, Las Tunas,
Santiago, Granma… here I am!
In my tenths I give you
suns, stars and moons.
My East! in your cribs
so many brothers were born
that my hands can’t reach
to give you from afar
bits of my art
on behalf of other Cubans.
