By Anisley Fernandez Diaz
HAVANA TIMES – My poems are no longer my poems. They belong to pain. They belong to silence. The duty to confess disaffection, pride, or anything that ignores the needs of Cuban women has died within me. What happens if a woman doesn’t want to leave Cuba? If she takes a different path from the disruptive poets of the eighties?
Someone once told me: If we leave, nothing will be fixed. One loses her youth trying to discover her image in the social poetry of silences, suffering in this nobody’s-land of a homeland. Displacing oneself from places where art is politics. A woman of rupture is always at war with politics. A woman who writes and serves God is a danger. I know this from the loneliness that invades my nights.
Necessity imposes itself. The need to be militant in the Holy Spirit is a mystery that bends my will. I have questioned being Jewish for various reasons and have witnessed how faith moves mountains. Collaborating in an Intercession Ministry where fasting occurred, with foreheads prostrated, until the body became frail, I discovered the power of prayer. There is One God, who is enough. As time passes and questions re