The great tower had to leave dark darkness scope to settle in slit of light that still remained to illuminate your memories. The huge Ziggurat from where Nimrod threw their Spears against the celestial mansion of divinity, was outlined by the brush of a spectral hand. The library of Babel acquired renewed force to develop virtual technology where millions of pages can be accepted. But, despite the scope of the vision of Borges, he settled not his work in emotional words stirrup, but supported his literary architecture on the rigor of mathematics. Borges, in his bleak solitude, wandering among the shelves of the library material, where ever he founded his empire.

Overthrown by night, secretly encouraged the construction of a more marvelous maze of poems and stories, thoughts and intuitions. One of his hands held the baton, the other touched with delicate fruition rectangular distribution of words, the plant disposition from the original verb, transmuted in a myriad of languages that humans, on each block attempted to ascend to the Empyrean or rush to the stormy profanity of sin. Paradoxically, Borges the library of Babel published thirteen years before losing the view. Hexagonal galleries that make up the universe for the author must obey to a predetermined order, an idea weighs on them and it gives you forms related to eternity. This is the announcement of the rigidity of a science that is not apparently related with literature, or poetry, or with the magnificencias of the verb, devastated by the human importunities, riddled with irresponsibility and relegated to format for the expression of needs and sorrows.

But Borges decode the mysteries and returned them to us even more enigmatic, it hints that there is a code where the catalogue of catalogues, is hidden the nomenclature which identifies the original idea of the divine to explain the secrets of the universe. It is there in this cloister, but tells us nothing more. Hidden among rows of volumes, covered by the dust of centuries, this primeval index is forbidden to laymen, to the disgraceful enabler of IMPIETY and weariness. The book is lost between the old cronicones, yellowish codices and the cracked Papyri accommodated in the old tablets. Borges continued giving to the texts that sense of eternity when it was published in 1975, the book of sand. There, the Argentine writer returns to work with elements of geometry such as points, the plane and the lines. Recognizes the author not be the best way to begin his story; However, it emphasizes its veracity, while ahead the fantastic in its essence. Once again, in this and in the library, we can perceive the solitary Borges, man in the margin of the time and the vicissitudes of everyday life. Imagine given the job of recounting all the books, its pages, paragraphs, phrases and words to distract the eternal solitude in which we have entered by that sort of tenacious desire that is the will. If this library is eternal, cannot be work of another creature that is not a deity, a God or God. But there it is and in it, travelling around its corridors, solazando reading all the books of the past, the present and the future, Borges becomes an archetype of the writer and their need to be close to the creator that he made the world with words.