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The Innocents

Return of a visit, however desirable, was postponed to infinity and beyond. I refer to the Mausoleum Ossario Gianicolense , located on the hill is named after Janus .

I enter the room. I give a return to the square. I slip between his very rectangular columns. I take photos that will serve as a monument to monument and remember that the Latin origin of the term is here again, precisely, "remember." I am enjoying watching these letters ever reported membership of the Senate and people of Rome, SPQR, and I can not help overtake me a little fascist markedly this type of architecture.

I sit on a bench and distract me (though not in that order). To give a break to chess problems, solve a sudoku exercise and I lose my time between engagement and release numbers. When I leave the math puzzle, the stiffness of the columns and the heaviness of the memorial to the fallen in the defense of Rome, I blur the morning, which, moreover, is extremely bright. I think of the slain, of the Italian boot, alligator-Caribbean, in whom gave their lives on behalf of the Cause whatever it was. And I am reminded of that fateful and redundant slogan that haunted me since I was conscious until I fled from the island.

I have been cloudy day. I seek refuge in the green areas surrounding the building complex and then see. Two-like song-General, two dogs playing on the grass outside the city and its history, ignore everyone and everything from the ambulance going up the hill to my desire revientacaballo disclose all the confines victims of this process that some call "Cuban revolution."

Mataperros I look at the puppies, oblivious to cubaneo, the damn suspicion by all parties and the ominous shadow of that regime continues to hold power in my country. Then think of the hundreds of thousands of compatriots who live in democratic countries and not tiny percent of them prefer not to enter politics to ensure the entry and exit from their homeland and, in general terms, a life more bearable .

I enter a weariness and discouragement difficult to describe. I know you will and will shortly be writing a mocking tenth , reeling off a satirical sonnet seeking a new way mofarme of the Castro brothers and their decrepit dictatorship anniversary. But I admit that in a moment of weakness, I miss the candor of the animal, puppies, Cubans who prefer to ignore the reality of the island, that innocence, luckily, and unrecoverable.