That day the trumpets with the scent of the incense, the scent of the gunpowder and the greenery of the manigua: a bigger psalm invited to the combat recently used for the first time in Yara, and from then on the Cuban culture threw to gallop.
And it galloped for valleys and serranías, on the paving stones and the asphalt, between select living rooms and lot yards; and in their step they were him growing tri-colored roots of those that the essential of a nation that raised their greatness in a star’s search germinated.
It is for that reason that the Day of the Cuban Culture is not the single evocation of that instant when Cuba was given its own hymn. It is the summary of all that we are and we will be: that great party when saying of Lezama, where we preach ours every day so that the dawn announces with the song of Mariano’s roosters, the afternoon it belongs to Sindo when its colors filter in Amelia’s vitral, and the Cuban night it owes to Portillo de la Luz its bohemian soul.
A unname party where the strings and the leathers are tightened, so that from a concert to a bembé fit the ancestral faith and the exquisite enjoyment of the spirit. A party innombrable that trasiega reasons so that Cecilia dances a rumba in the Kingdom of this world, while Matamoros offers a serenade to the Tropical Gypsy.
We are this way and we will always be because October 20th, 1868 the Cuban culture threw to gallop, and from the root until the star begin to recognize us to ourselves in the greatness of a hymn. The manigua shivered of anger, the homeland contemplated proud to its liberators and the palm from then on captured with its cooing to the universe.
Translate by Julio Jiménez