My Havana

But fortunately you are real since 498 years ago without revealing the disturbing mystery of your enchantment

Oh, my Havana, fortunately we did not have to invent you; because –as Fayad Jamis said in one of his poems- maybe we could not have foreseen your bay fertilized with salt residue; or the noise of engines awaking paving stones at dawn. We could not have imagined the amount of sparrows surrounding around Paseo del Prado at the sunset; we could not even have dreamed of the sharp artillery shot stirring every night (at nine) from the fortress.

My Havana, how could we have foreseen the syncretism shown in a music concert and an afro Cuban ritual; in a slogan and a prayer; in a bicitaxi and Internet; in biotechnology and a peanut cone?

My Havana, how could we have imagined your balance between cosmopolitanism and Cuban identity; between lust and innocence; between sun and mint; between stain glass windows and rhum? How could we have supposed all the ingredients of the alchemy that runs through your veins, that overflows down the street towards the sea … or maybe up the street in pursuit of heaven?

Oh, my Havana, fortunately we did not have to invent you; because we would not have been able to interweave your warp of realities and dreams, which converge at the exact point where utopia may still be possible.

Oh, my Havana, but fortunately you are real since 498 years ago without revealing the disturbing mystery of your enchantment; because that way you startle and seduce us at any time of the day; as only beautiful cities and best lovers do.

Translated by ESTI