ELEGY FOR AN ISLAND.

FOR FIDEL.  FOR THE HISTORY WHICH WILL VINDICATE YOU.

FAITHFUL SERVANT OF THE PEOPLE, WE MOURN FOR YOU……

 

Must you go into the breach again my brothers?

Must you sail on such a ship that shudders, a ship that others

deride. A ship that reeks of wine and debauchery?

Once upon a time the sugarcane fields rustled with snakes

like mice and men with guns and hungry bellies,

crawled silently swallowed up under the canopy of steaming raindrops and soupy fog.

They were silent lest the enemy surprised them.

Over craggy hills they dug in, slept in damp moss-filled caves, they became rheumy and fevered, still they climbed and crawled, all the while they thought of your freedom from Fulgencio and his brand of tyranny.

Your brothers crawled and crawled millions of miles, months, days, years dragging

the chains that shackled you.  Full five years, five months and six days, they dragged our chains and took them to the sea and drowned them.

They drowned the chains that shackled your Cuban brothers and sisters, your nieces and nephews your aunts your uncles and your grandparents. Drowned them in the Caribbean Sea.

your dogs and cats and bovine life, you had milk and you had apples and yams, you had flowers and rice and miles of fish and fowl. The battles set your teeth on edge and sometimes broke the spirits of your brother warriors trapped in the underbelly of your island. Still they battled on valiantly.

“Cuba we are coming”,  was what they said, “we will save you, don’t sleep my darling lady, don’t sleep my maidens and sons, don’t sleep my babies, listen for our low whistle and see us when the birds fly up suddenly, we are nearby. Plough, sing and dance we are coming for you”.

Viva Cuba, Viva Fidel.

Island mine, Cuba, Cuba, spectacular Cuba from whence cometh your help?

Mexico, Bolivia, Argentina, Che, Raul et al?

War, blood,

rivers like blood,

the first round lost to the brothers, netted like prey the prison could not hold them, free again, fifteen then thirteen years they said. Impossible, no!  

The chains fell away; back to the battle fields they went.

Drawn up to their full and raging heights, comrade Fidel six feet three inches, comrade Che five feet nine inches, comrade Raul “the terrible” five feet four inches. Like hurricanes they stormed the beaches and prisons and the camps.

Back into the breach they plunged once more, bodies stiff with determination

Cuba must feel freedom, Cuba must smell like freedom, Cuba must be free, so back into the breach they plunged. 

The people rallied and sent secret food and secret prayers for the deliverers in the bushes and caves, peeking over the tops of hills gazing through tall grass where snakes slithered over their bruised bodies, no fear coursed their warrior hearts. Their minds were made up. To die in the breach in the blood- soaked hills for Cuba, back into the breach for love. Land of their birth

Cuba, beautiful Cuba how you smell like English gardens and French Pomade,

Yet you glow like the oranges of Seville.

A golden globe of light, a jewel, a beauty,

Cuba mi Amor, you are dark and pulse the rhythms of Africa,

your drums conjure the spirits, the ancestors rise up to cluster over the warriors deep in the woods, faces flushed and temples throb, the blood of your brothers bubble to paint the leaves a new shade of red, beautiful red, scarlet precious blood spilled gloriously in this battle for freedom from tyrants who would play you like toys for their pleasure and subjugation; they craved your brown bodies, they would own your brown souls, your fragrant Isle Oh Cuba mine! So divine.

Then they left you alone

They left you alone. Whipped back to whence they came, you were glorious.

Fidel, Fidel, Fidel warrior brother,

You won the revolution, but not the prize.

No respect for your valiance, no wreath for your head, no linen robe for your loin and shoulder, no praise for your sacrifice.

Instead, they left you like a stray dog, they burned the bridges to the mainland and called you names as they encouraged the people to flee their shores for the love of candy.

Nothing shiny this time, something sticky and sweet. Sweet like your spilled blood now curdled in the sand and mixed with moss on the roots of orange trees, manure for the fields and flowers. Dogs lick your blood and bay at the moon, victory in their throats.

The moon, she nods and commands the tide to rise and the fish to run aplenty. Come eat, come eat, dance the dinky mini and the Gerreh the dead has to be buried with pomp and respect.

After the dead was buried and your belly full the real war began fifty seven years and counting they called the new war ‘embargo’ – revolution no longer.

How they embargoed you and hoped to starve you and yours to death,

Who are you?

Fidel Castro is who you are and your history will vindicate you, as you died on your terms on your bed in, your Cuba.

Beloved Cuba, love of mine me, and you.

Come light the pyre load it with Frangipani and sweet Eucalyptus and Cinnamon and spices galore. Let the flames go up as we push your barge from the shore;

Your flame will burn thousands of feet magnificent; shooting upward into the heavens.

Your sweet incense will waft once by the people to kiss each and every face adios, adieu

ni hao , oh-da-bo,    –   and then waft up to heaven.

The angels collect it into one large urn of praise and evensong, your fate to be sealed with the other heroes.

Your name to be written and for a thousand years to be called upon for courage and inspiration.

You will never die, your history will vindicate you.

Sleep well Fidel, wake from time to time and smile on us.

 

Lmh 11/2616