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.
