---

U.S. Child:
Hello? Hola?
Is this Cuba? I’m calling from the Land of the Free.
Can you hear me?

Cuban Child:
Sí, I hear you. From the Land of the Blockade,
Where the sky is still blue, but our roads—they crack
And some medicines—we lack.
What do you need?

U.S. Child:
Oh, nothing much. Just curious—
We heard you’re surviving…
(Shuffles feet awkwardly)
Despite, you know, what my country’s been providing.

Cuban Child:
Providing?
Ah, yes, you mean the walls.
The walls built with “embargo” bricks,
The ones that keep food from our hungry,
And meds from our sick!

U.S. Child:
Well… (pauses, hesitant)
It’s just policy, you know?
Freedom’s price.
And besides, why can’t you get your own?
Surely, you’re not that alone?

Cuban Child:
(Laughs softly)
Oh, we’re not alone.
Africa calls our name,
We send doctors when they fall,
While you send… blame.
We heal, while you seal.

U.S. Child:
(Confused)
But why help them?
What’s in it for you?
Aren’t you worried about being “influenced” too?
Democracy is our gift—
A shining beacon from afar!
What could you possibly offer,
When you’re trapped behind your bars?

Cuban Child:
(Laughs again, but with more bite)
Bars? You mean your blockade?
The one that’s been around since my abuela was a babe?
We don’t need your “beacon,”
Our sun shines just fine.
We might lack your dollars,
But we’re rich in time.
Time to care, time to share,
To send hands across the seas,
While you close doors on the needy—
With your keys.

U.S. Child:
(Flustered)
But—but aren’t you, well, oppressed?
Isn’t that why we keep you in check?
We’ve got democracy—
The land of choices!
Where everyone has a voice,
Not whispers, but real voices!
You’re not free like us,
We’ve got it all figured out—
Why else would the world seek our clout?

Cuban Child:
(Chuckles)
Freedom? You mean the kind wrapped in money?
Where voices sing but only if rich or “funny”?
Your freedom comes with a heavy cost—
An empty soul, and purpose lost.

We might have our struggles, I will admit,
But don’t mistake our spirit for something you can split.
We choose to heal, where you choose to harm,
We embrace the world, while you sound alarms.

U.S. Child:
But wait—how?
You’re under sanctions, no?
How do you live? How do you grow?

Cuban Child:
Ah, you see, we don’t need much—
Just enough to survive.
But it’s more than just surviving;
It’s helping others thrive.

Africa, Latin America—they call,
And we answer.
We build schools, save lives,
While you watch from your mansions of blood!

U.S. Child:
But—but I was told,
That you… you’re stuck in the past,
Clinging to old ways—surely it can’t last?
How can you still be standing,
When the world’s moving fast?

Cuban Child:
(Laughs heartily)
Stuck? No, we’re just standing tall.
See, when you try to push us down,
We don’t fall—we learn to crawl,
To walk, to run, to fight and stand—
Cuba is no beggar, just part of the land.

And as for the future—oh, we’re there,
In the hearts of the people, in how much we care.
You block our roads, but we build new ones,
For we are a nation of fathers, of daughters, and of sons.

U.S. Child:
(Whispers)
But how can you still be proud?
With all we’ve done, all we’ve shrouded?

Cuban Child:
(Silence. A pause. Then softly)
Pride comes from more than gold,
From stories untold.
You may call us “poor,” but you forget,
It’s not wealth in dollars we regret.
It’s kindness, unity, and care—
That’s what makes us rare.

U.S. Child:
(Sighs)
I… I don’t understand.
How can you stand so tall,
When all we’ve done is build your wall?

Cuban Child:
(Laughs)
Walls are funny things, mi amigo.
They keep out the sun but also make shadows grow.
And while you wall us in,
Our roots stretch deep,
Across oceans and minds—
A history to keep.

So, next time you look over that wall,
Remember, we’re still standing, still proud, still tall.

U.S. Child:
(Softly)
But… is it really freedom, then?
If it’s built on blocking out the sun?

Cuban Child:
(Smiling)
Now, you’re starting to understand.

---

End.