There is something indescribable, enigmatic in the trajectory of that man who never came second to the fight. It must be that determination to face the difficult, even if death was at the distance of a trigger.

It will be because the beautiful of that slender ticket seller, who was a bricklayer, a cleaning boy, a public works worker ... who in his own way surrendered to the fiercest work to serve as a fork for the family. It is possible that the lyric was inspired by that "young black, worker,

combative" -as Fidel described it-, because he returns from Moncada, or from the long trainings in the days of his exile in Mexico, or denies the cowardice and shouts the curse that shook the expeditionary in Alegría de Pío, because "here no one surrenders, c ...!”

But we will have to ask the poets if there is a muse that resists his gaze. It is not brave nor dominant or seductive. There is a transparency in those eyes that defy horizons, that seem to look for something I do not know what, something I do not know where, but always from loyalty and firmness ... One looks at it today, eternalized in photographs and in the collective memory, and it seems like if, beyond the Commander, we were looking at a great friend.

It will be that poetry tends its mysterious networks to catch the sensitive ones. Maybe that's the reason why the youngster who arrived just 8th grade learned to baste verses right and left, between risk and calm, to accumulate more than 300 songs and a dozen books where his story and that of the country become one.

It must be because there is the same limpid smile that traces the timeline of the youth dressed as a combatant, who holds the reins of a horse, or who looks at the camera from the stool reclined to a guano house; or of the man standing in the rostrum, very close to his people; or that of the Commander of the Revolution who hears from his friend Raúl some idea impossible to be captured by the lens.

There may be too many reasons - difficult to summarize in one sentence - so that the work of Juan Almeida Bosque continues to beat strongly in the bowels of the Island. I can not find a better explanation: that man is the inspiration of poetry.