Poetry: M. Jahangir Khan
Cuba stands —
an island of morning light,
where independence is not a slogan
but a pulse beneath the skin.
A country of dignity,
where unity is bread shared
and history spoken aloud.
When the world trembled in pandemic fear,
Cuban doctors crossed oceans
like white-winged messengers,
proving that medicine can be
a language of solidarity.
Year after year,
the nations gather and vote —
calling for an end to siege and sanction,
for justice over isolation.
Yet the blockade lingers,
like a shadow that refuses to fade.
Across the Caribbean winds
and through the valleys of Venezuela,
echo the unfinished questions:
How long must sovereignty wait?
How many decades must patience endure?
From the mountains of the Andes
to the paddies of Southeast Asia,
voices of the past still rise —
Fidel’s defiance,
Chávez’ thunder,
Bolívar’s dream of a united continent.
And from the fields of Vietnam,
the spirit of a peasant son —
Ho Chi Minh —
reminds the world:
“The farmers are the roots of revolution.”
They were never backward;
they were the earth itself —
quiet, enduring,
until history called them forward.
From village to village
a bond was formed —
not of weapons,
but of will.
Let the Global South remember:
strength is not born of domination,
but of dignity shared.
Let solidarity be stronger than sanction.
Let cooperation outlive coercion.
Let diplomacy belong to the people,
not only to power.
Raise not the banner of revenge,
but the standard of justice.
For the dream is not of conquest,
but of a world
where no nation kneels,
and no people are silenced.
And in that dawn —
Cuba still stands,
Vietnam still rises,
and the spirit of the unbroken South
walks forward
into history.
