There are five thousand of us here in this small part of the city
We are five thousand
I wonder how many we are in all the cities and in the whole country?
Here alone are ten thousand hands which plant seeds and make the factories run

How much humanity exposed to hunger, cold, panic, pain, moral pressure, terror, and insanity?

Six of us were lost as if into starry space

One dead, another beaten as I could never have believed a human being could be beaten
The other four wanted to end their terror--one jumping into nothingness, another beating his head against a wall, but all with the fixed stare of death
What horror the face of fascism creates!
They carry out their planes with knife-like precision
Nothing matters to them
To them, blood equals medals, slaughter is an act of heroism
Oh God, is this the world that you created, for this your seven days of wonder and work?
Within these four walls, only a number exists which does not progress, which slowly will wish more and more for death

But suddenly my conscience awakes and I see that this tide has no heartbeat, only the pulse of machines and the military showing their midwives' faces full of sweetness

Let Mexico, Cuba and the world cry out against this atrocity!
We are ten thousand hands which can produce nothing
How many of us in the whole country?
The blood of our President, our compañero, will strike with more strength than bombs and machine guns!
So will our fist strike again!
How hard it is to sing when I must sing of horror
Horror which I am living, horror which I am dying
To see myself among so much and so many moments of infinity in which silence and screams are the end of my song
What I see, I have never seen
What I have felt and what I feel will give birth to the moment...