Ancient History by Pablo Neruda — Read

Now I open my eyes and I remember: it sparkles and dims, electric and dark, with joys and suffering the bitter and magic history of Cuba.

Years passed as fish pass through the blue of the sea and its sweetness, the island lived in liberty and dance, the palm trees danced with the foam,

Blacks and Whites were a single loaf of bread because Martí kneaded their ferment, peace fulfilled its destiny of gold and the sun crackled in the sugar, while ripened by the sun fell a beam of honey over the fruit: man was content with his reign and family with its agriculture, when from the North arrived a seed threatening, covetous, unjust, that like a spider spread her threads extending a metallic structure that drove bloodied nails into the land raising over the dead a vault.

It was the dollar with its yellow teeth, commandant of blood and grave.