Explore "Cuba" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In Cuba they're assassinating!
Now they've put Jesús Menéndez in a newly purchased coffin.
He emerged from the people like a king, and went forth to examine roots, stopping passersby, beating on the breasts of the sleeping, establishing the ages, mending broken hearts, and raising from the sugar the bloody cane fields, sweat that rots the stones, asking in humble kitchens:
"Who are you? How much do you eat? " touching this arm, this wound, and accumulating these silences in a single voice, the hoarse choked voice of Cuba.
A little captain, a little general assassinated him: in a train he told him: "Come," and the little general shot him in the back so that the cane fields' coarse voice would be silent.