The night Che Guevara Died

It was a cold night. The breeze from the Rio Grand was misty; the air full the stench of treason, and little did Che, the revolutionary, Che the man and Che the lover know of any of it. Nor did he care.

Little did he care, I submit, because he was a man in love. In love with his cause, and the woman in his life that stood by him in that cause. With her it all made sense.

More fundamentally, consider this: what is love, but a revolution? what is revolution, if not love? An individual, or a collective, falls in love with a cause - the cause of freedom, the cause of breaking prison walls and the cause of the will of the free human spirit, are as good causes as any. The labour of it all is their fight to attain that ever so near, ever so far an aim. And upon the palms of death, arrives the child of labour of that love, in itself a victorious revolution; A manifestation of the everlasting cycle of life, that has no beginning and no end. What more can be more human, and what else can be so close to being in love than to revolt for it? And the converse, is trivial, quam clarum.

To him, the world was written in black and red - white was to yet to be born. To his mind, the ever-so-subtle interaction between these two colours would produce all the other colours in the spectrum of light that was to be the road to his, well, death. I say that so hesitantly, because I really do have a problem accepting that any man can die when he is so much in love. To my aid rush the proofs of his hands all around, for all to see. To the point that even when his dead corps was being displayed by captors, he looked alive.

I submit that there is a side to this man that no one ever cared to consider, which is how much of a faithful and loyal lover he was. To let it all ride on a wing-and-prayer. To throw caution to the wind, in pursuit of "the one".

And to sum it all up, this is for you, Che. I'd imagine we'd be good friends. Even though we could not be more different in political ideology, we'd be marvellous friends if you were around, for we are both lovers. You, of your Marxist cause, and I, well .. of my one, the only one ..

Here's to you Che .. ever present, and not forgotten.

And here's to you, my one. This revolutionary still lives on, and while they may hang me and show my corps to the world, I shall never surrender you. For as long as I breath, I will fight for you, if only for my heart to keep beating your name till the day I am no more, and my soul has to come back from the realms of oblivion to guard you.

QED.