Thirteen years ago, in Caracas, it could have been today - a little girl bathing in the dust

Her flowers were made of cardboard, her trees had no buttons. She turned into a golden wren and flew away

I was climbing to the very top of 23 de Enero on the shoulders of late September. A homeless man passed me by - he was boiling into a lunar eclipse

Let me ask you: have you ever seen the Law sleep beneath a bridge? Have you ever seen the wolves in blue weep of hunger?

This is no epitaph for the hanged; it's a machete made of chalk to open up the ribcage of the Andes and set free the Northern Star

The face of my clock looked as wrinkled as the tin miners I saw marching (the 1980s had just turned five) on the streets of La Paz

I put the feathers of time quietly into my backpack and continued climbing, welding each word into a shipload of dynamite

I was taught to fear you, I was taught you were invisible. Instead, I chose to see. "To be!", remains my answer

The unchained centuries in the smile of a single poor peasant remain my world. His veins go into my heart

There is no riddle, once you fall in love with walking the silent roads leading into the Jungle, where comrades are organizing the next assault on the palaces of afterlife

I will split my red lily into a thousand wings!

Each call to arms stronger than the void between my end and your beginning - and give it away to the men and women from nowhere; to my brothers and sisters

Thus, I found Home, everywhere.