CAMAGÜEY.- Why will it be that you have the gift of being mine, ours, of all. Why will it be that before the difficulties we evoke you, to turn the no in yes, the impossible thing in possible, the mistaken thing in accurate, the darkness in light.
Because you taught us to fight in any circumstance; and to get up after every fall. Because you shared the fortitude with the dweebs. Because you never lacked the justice not even one moment of your life. Because with the honesty and the truth you guided us to sure port without mattering how in a mess the seas were.
From the days of the Sierra Maestra, the olive-green one has been the most visible sign, the shade of a warrior without rest. You know how much means the Commander's star for a people that feeds his resistance on account on its own history.
When further we feel you, at those endless hours of the proclamation that silenced us all, you returned turned into soldier of the ideas, into the partner of all, and your telescopic peephole transformed in a weapon of universal scope to do the war to the war, to mark the difference between the survival and the existence, to turn the hate into love. Then: how not to believe and to know you eternally?
Because the seed that you already sowed is not a country, it sprouted in Island - universe, because you returned the dignity to yours and further away, because your index still shows us the way towards a better world, because you are privileged of the history, “since no other it could transform so much the world and live to see it”. This, the people that you command, years ago granted to you the gift of which many men dream but few ones can manage, that the fairies do not grant, but the grateful ones, and this, The most Faithful my, The most Faithful ours, it cannot be different than that of the immortality.
Being born is a daily fact for the one who is a country, dignity and life. In August, there came to us the light that indicated the future, the hope. That one that today glimpses us like construction energy, as I walk, difficultly but possibly, next to the only Party that guides us.
Cuba is born every day in his example, in his people, in his rights and aspirations, in his dreams and in his work. Cuba is born in August, in that 13, of good luck, which converted us all, 92 years ago, into Fidel.
Translated by Linet Acuña Quilez