The prideful villager
thinks his hometown
contains the whole
world, and as long as he
can stay on as mayor or
humiliate the rival who
stole his sweetheart or
watch his nest egg
accumulating in its
strongbox he believes the
universe to be in good
order, unaware of the
giants in seven-league
boots who can crush him underfoot or the battling
comets in the heavens that go through the air
devouring the sleeping worlds. Whatever is left of
that sleepy hometown in America must awaken.
These are not times for going to bed in a sleeping
cap, but rather, like Juan de Castellanos' men, with our weapons for a pillow,
weapons of the mind, which vanquish all others. Trenches of ideas are worth
more than trenches of stone.
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