Freedom by Otto Rene Castillo For you we have so many blows on our skin that even standing on end there's no room for us in death. In my country freedom is something more than a delicate breeze of the soul, it is also a courage of skin. In every inch of its infinite cry your name is written: freedom. In the tortured hands. In the eyes, open in shock of mourning. On the brow in its dignity. In the breast, where man grows up in us. On our back, in our feet that suffer. In our balls proud of themselves. There your name, your soft and tender name sings courage, sings hope. We have suffered assassins' blows in so many parts and written your name on so little skin that death is no longer our end, freedom has no place in death. They can hit us again and again, believe me, they can. You will always win, freedom. And when we fire the last round you'll be the first to sing in the throats of my countrymen, freedom. For there's nothing more beautiful on the width of the earth than a free people putting finish to a system that dies. Freedom, then watch and dream with us when we enter the night or arrive at the day, in love with your beautiful name: freedom.