Poem from a Cuban to the migratory exodus: “My people have stampeded”

In the midst of the migratory exodus that has shaken Cuba in recent times, the playwright Iran Capote published a poem where he describes "the docile sadness caused by the absence" of loved ones.

The publication, in the profile ofFacebook of Capote, states that "My people have stampeded. Between the parol and the volcanoes."

He regrets that those who leave change irremediably oncecross the borders of the island, pushed by new circumstances. "I don't judge them, because to judge them I should first be in their skin, I should experience the same circumstances that transform them, I should be in their fears, in the first impacts of the “American dream” on their stomachs and their illusions," he says.

He also talks about the loneliness they leave on the island, where one learns to walk with a "docile sadness" due to absences:

"I have learned to walk alongside the docile sadness that absence has caused. The docile sadness does not kill you, but it accompanies you all the time with a crushing step, with a breath of death. It is mourning. Mourning for those who they left and that they will return one day as others," he points out.

In the last two years, more thanhalf a million Cubans, in the context of the worst migration crisis that the country, of 11 million inhabitants, has ever gone through.

"My people have stampeded. Between the parol and the volcanoes.
They left. They're not here. And it's hunger's fault, yes. It is the fault of the hunger of the stomach and the hunger of illusions.
My people are gone. And I have that feeling of saying goodbye to them forever at the borders. And I say forever, because then they are not the same.
They change. They evolve. They retreat. I don't really know how to say it.
People are not the same once they jump over the edge of the island.
And I do not judge them, because to judge them I should first be in their skins, I should experience the same circumstances that transform them, I should be in their fears, in the first impacts of the “American dream” on their stomachs and their illusions.
I have learned to walk alongside the docile sadness that absence has caused.
Docile sadness does not kill you, but it accompanies you all the time with a crushing step, with a breath of death. It is mourning.
The mourning for those who left and who will return one day as others.
"Never the same."