Your sphinx of graceful gentleman rides today on the loin of your Rocinante, with the leather shield to the arm, for plains and mountains, for hills, seas and cities, thirsty for justice, for peace and love, Che Comandante.

So sad was that October 8th, 1967, when in Vado de Yeso, in the Quebrada del Yuro there dressed in mourning the Bolivian sky and your hurt body, with your ruined weapon was a sure prey of those who later, on the 9th, terrified before your challenging image, murdered you in the small school of the Higuera, to make you immortal.

Memory for that we all weep of powerlessness. Not because supposedly you had gone away, but for the way in which they did it, because they cut the hands that earlier had clutched the guerrilla rifle and the doctor's stethoscope.

What lugubrious that small school, what sadistic and ignorant your killers. They did not know that the ideas, as yours, cannot be killed, hidden, buried or dissolved in the air, but they travel in the space to make better the men, more just persons, more human beings.

How do we remember you. Your dreams of the new man were not a figment and much less an utopia. Of your message to the Tricontinental, that one in which you were asking many for Vietnams to fight the imperialism, today are a reality.

That's why, they could not have hidden you those who tried in Bolivian ground, 48 years ago, Che Guevara, for wht your presence represents

To Cuba, from where you set off in your redeeming guerrilla mission in the rural Bolivian places where were claiming “the contest of your modest efforts”, you returned one day with your partners, of a historical and just trip, like a detachment of reinforcement, to make advance the Revolution that with your thought and fighting action, you forged triumphantly one January 1st, 1959.  

Long live Guevara!

Translated by BA in English Language, Manuel Barrera Téllez

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