Stranger Dreams

By: Gus Victoria

The ideal in sacred parchment

Of philosopher nobles

Served as fertile soil

Free of corruptible elements

To the child of centuries

Whose own ideal was stillborn

In an Iberian cradle.

Bellicose and proud was the glory

Of ancient histories

Unknown and unforgotten,

Bent to the future,

Malleable as heated gold,

Worth far more,

Heavier than the leaden skies

That draped the day,

An unknown stranger in his own land,

He walked with vision,

He hoped

And he loved,

Each step on the path he chose

Closer to discovering

That which was hidden at birth,

Felt near

And left untouched,

A force pulling him forward,

Confusing him to action,

Filling a head with dreams,

A mystic chord unbreakable

Binds him to his land,

A future unwritten

Makes him lift his pen,

To write not alone,

But with the voice of his people,

The cry of millions,

He writes words they speak,

He believes works they do,

He sees a future

To share with the world.

In Mexico is the future born.

In Mexico is the world welcome,

In Mexico the stranger is no more,

There he is finally home.