I   When we met last it was you still Who saw us off into the farming Of the seeds of our new government of the people, Seeds that will sprout in the mountain of rain.   When we met last we surprised Ourselves, not once did we dream That two students would meet again As comrades.   Comrades now in the great Revolution of the deprived and exploited. We looked back with regret over days Wasted in the deceptive shelter of the 'white' university.   You never mentioned then Your wife, imprisoned with the others; You had interred inside yourself the concern For self, when we last met.   II   The seventeenth of April, at last You are about to join the government Now thriving, army and school Of the masses in these mountains and plains.   The seventeenth of April, only your Fourth day away from the city, Unshod, you learn to tread and read The secrets of mountain passes, hidden routes.   Your feet learn to decipher the slippery mud, Bridge of boles, treacherous spikes, Jagged rocks, coursing water, Grit that bites the festering gash;   You learn the speech of the wilderness To leave word and trace of the redemptive Masses who have marched and advanced Holding their weapons tight;   Learn to be hard metal, wrapped In cotton: the metal for the enemy, Cotton for the people - to prepare For the long war of liberation.   The seventeenth of April, two hundred Meters from the waiting comrades, You received the fire and bullets Of the traitors of class, the unseen enemy.   The traitors of class, the unseen enemy We have punished; and gave punishment In bitter tears, mourning your loss, The rending of the pure heart in your breast.   We will exact retribution for you, Martyrs. All the slain by the serpent in the grass, As you cleared the path to the mountaintop, A task, Comrade Nick, as heavy as your death.   As heavy, Comrade Nick, as your death, That seventeenth of April, while the exaction Of retribution on the traitors of class, The unseen enemy, has the weight of hair.   And though the light of dawn beyond The mountaintop may not reach you, In the memory of our hearts You will have seen the sunrise.   III   "What is that sound, Mother, Mother; What is that sound in the field?" It is only the wind, child, in the grass and corn, The wind sharp and swift, brave.   "What is that light, Father, Father; What is that light in the wilderness?" Only fireflies, child, ornaments of the dark; And rest yourself now, child, sleep, sleep.   Rest now, child, sleep, sleep; Gather strength for body and mind; Prepare hands and heart For the time when you will understand.   And at the time of our understanding The east wind is the storm, the march of millions! Towering cliffs! Earth-heave and thunder! Of the risen people!