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Mostrando entradas de julio, 2012

Can you understand why I won't go back to Cuba?

I have thousands of reason for never going back to Cuba; at least a genuine democratic change was made in the island. This is one of the reasons. One of my sisters has been living in Germany for twelve years. She got married with a German, and now they are proud parents of my nephew, a little German boy. My sister has been going to visit our family and native country yearly along the last ten years to keep in touch with them and our culture. Her last experience in the country made me so angry, that I have decided to tell it to my friends, specially my not Cuban friends , who ask me often when I will return to Cuba. My sister decided with her husband to tour around Oriente, (the eastern side of the island), because she never had the possibility living and being a Cuban, without money and resources to do a such travel in our own country. They also brought with them my other nephew, who is five years old now, son of our sister who lives in Cuba. Cuba has beautiful places that Cu

Poema inconcluso para Virgilio Pinera

Q uisiera escribirte un poema y no encuentro las palabras sentarme a tomar una tasa de café junto a tí y oírte narrar historias adivinar como sería tu voz acaso trasnochada de tanto cigarro fumado o de andares habaneros Donde has estado Virgilio? Imagino que te encerraste en aquella caja de zapatos vacía que tu sólo llenabas de esperanza y  cubrías de colores Y dentro de la caja te imagino sintiendo el calor sofocante del verano jugando al sexo y escribiendo poesías deseando un poco de Aire Frío sin poder como Luz Marina comprarte un dichoso ventilador Se que allí sentiste como nadie la Isla en peso en aquel encierro que era tu litoral y a pesar de las circunstancias y del agua sabías que eras inmenso y grande sobrevivirias Te escapaste una vez cuando podías hacerlo Fuiste a refugiarte en los tangos porque querías  sentir el amor  y el dolor de otra manera Querías vivir  la música diferente  a Electra Garrigo regodearte del sudor bonaerense que te recordaba el d