"It will be ashes, but it will make sense / it will be dust, much beloved dust," the poet would have said when, from the Ministry of Armed Forces, the eternal precursor of utopia, the undefeated Commander of freedom, returned to the rebel jeep to begin Another Caravan.
As if feeling the breath of Biran's trees he entered the cedar urn, covered with the most beautiful flag that exists. Then began the bathing with the people and was receiving love from all corners, where the footprint of his reverse route with a troupe of young bearded men remains.
The first resting place, before continuing to march towards eternity, was the site where the Heroic Guerrilla and his Detachment of Reinforcements rested in Santa Clara. They were together for a few hours. And they say that at the end of the morning, when the time came to continue, the city shuddered with the embrace of the two Commanders, fused in a ¡Hasta la victoria siempre!