革命 戰爭 獨裁 自由
冷戰 危機 孤立 專制
In an old store filled with fragrance
There’re cigars laded in box gracefully.
Each stick is wrapped in gold papers,
Brand of Cuba to be proved genuinely.
An industry from the colonization still
The proud of this tropical island
after it has claimed independence.
Revolution, war, dictatorship and freedom
Cold war, crisis, isolation, and totalitarianism
Season after season tobaccos grow;
Year after year people roll cigars.
Tobaccos have no politic concerns.
Though those deep blond cigars travel
Freely to all kind of power institutes
To satisfy those who have power
Over people yet never suck enough.
As the nuclear war overshadowed
The blue sky and the island so green
Cases of cigars illuminated mysteriously offices where the fate of the world would soon be decided
But in the poor country side
Women, old and young still sat in row
Calmly kept rolling they cigars.
Tobacco leaves were baked, turning brown.
In their hands so quickly became
the gold stick which every one
is eager to taste.
This was an industry without smoke.
This was a struggle so silent
No capitalistic pollutions
An unique culture of tobacco.
The passion of rolling could not be feed
By ideologies and propaganda.
The endurance of workers was sustained
By poems and stories, which are read loudly during the working time.
And the souls wandering between
Red ideology and green identity hunger no more.
Is it the reason why
the fragrance of Cuba cigar
becomes so dark and strong
like a deep sigh
laden with love so ambiguous
and passion so fiery.