We sing the funeral, as goes the custom, with the hymn of the Dead. But Manuel, he chose a hymn for the living: the song of the co...umbite, the song of the earth, of the water, the plants, of fellowship between peasants because he wanted, as I now understand it, that his death for you be the renewal of life.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
What are we? Well, if you are asking me a question, I will answer you. Here it is: we are this country and it is nothing without u...s, nothing at all.... And in spite of all this, we are poor, it is true; we are indigent, that's true; we are miserable, that's true too. But, brother, do you know why? Because of our ignorance: we do not yet know that we are a force, a unified force--all of us, the peasants, the Negroes of the plains and of the mountains put together. One day, we will have understood this fact, and we will rise from one end of the country to another, and we will form the general assembly of the masters of the dew, the great coumbite of the workers of the earth to clear away misery and plant a new life.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
It would not be an easy thing to bring the water all the way to the plain. They would have to organize a great coumbite with all t...he peasants and the water would unite them once again, its fresh breath would clear away the fetid stink of anger and hatred; the brotherly community would be reborn with new plants, the fields filled with to bursting with fruits and grains, the earth gorged with life, simple and fertile.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »