In his poem “Eyes turned off,” Gabriel Salguero Mezcua finds many striking images to describe how the world and the people around him are gradually slipping away because his eyesight is fading.
Through his experiences with Braille, he senses how valuable, intense, and rich the experiences of touch can be.
Braille 200 would like to express its sincere thanks to Gabriel Salguero Mezcua, for allowing us to republish his poem.
author’s introductory remarks
The poem I am submitting tells the story of my life. It is the story of a person affected by retinitis pigmentosa who, at the age of fifteen, in the midst of the hardship of the Spanish Civil War, was diagnosed with total blindness by the age of twenty-five at the latest. I am now 71 years old and am a member of ONCE in Spain. Some of the verses mention and allude to Braille.
My poem “Ojos apagados” (Eyes turned off), won first prize in the “XV Literary Contest for Short Stories, Poetry, and Micro-Stories” organized by the Territorial Council of ONCE in Andalusia, Ceuta, and Melilla (Spain).
It has also been included/published in my poetry collection entitled: “Through the Corners of Time. Poetic Anthology.” September 2023.
Eyes turned off
Dawn breaks.
The ticking of a new clock begins,
the dawn of a new life,
two hands sprout in search of a bosom.
A cry and two little eyes are born
that turn a mother’s pain into a smile,
little eyes that will soon chase the trail of butterflies
and catch the vivid colors of their wings.
Time passes…
Two honey-colored eyes light up red poppies
and thirteen years old,
caress braids and the scent of innocent loves,
eyes that urge dreams and young springs,
that drink from the torrent of all colors
and capture life by the corners,
by each of its dyed corners.
And time passes…
And you see them spinning in the mist every morning,
every afternoon, every night,
and the now blurred hands of the clock.
You see chiaroscuro arriving with the sun, piercing your gaze,
elongated and dark omens looming over your tomorrow,
looming over your moist eyes,
you feel the silent tears of a mother beside you.
You see silhouettes dancing on the sidewalks,
gray shadows passing by, colliding,
silent, talking, surprising, hurting, helping, kissing,
sometimes reaching out their hand, which you “reject.” You don’t see it.
Shadows that play hide-and-seek with you without you wanting them to.
And time continues on its path and your path…
And it brings lights, dull nights and days,
streetlights that are lit but do not illuminate,
that do not move out of your way.
It brings darkness without colors, without shadows,
faceless hands that you shake and do not know,
faces that you “see” by their voices.
It brings friendly glances that envelop you,
that look into your open, caramel-colored eyes
and do not find their gaze.
And time continues its dance…
And the calendar continues to weave around you
shreds of darkness, Aprils, and dreams.
Twenty years and the “white companion” peek into your life,
the scent of May, the fragrance of wet earth at your feet,
the smell of asphalt betraying your steps, hidden from your gaze,
the passing of the breeze rocking your face.
And the warm kiss of the rising sun arrives,
“without” sun;
the early morning commotion of sparrows at your window,
‘without’ window;
the buzzing of the bumblebee at midday,
“without” bumblebee;
the jasmine-scented sunsets,
“without” jasmine;
and the silvery spell of the full moon narrated in the night,
“without” moon;
you don’t see your friend’s embrace coming towards you.
Hanging from sighs, from lips, from fingers,
the word “Braille” peeks into your life,
bringing its friend, hope, along by the arm.
And time does not stop…
And the loving caresses of four hands arrive
under the same sheet,
on two desires, on burning naked skin.
The texts heard from books arrive,
the verses heard from the poem,
the silence of the stories caressed on paper,
the color described in the landscape, in the paintings,
the magic of the melody of the seven smiles
spilled by the rainbow on the horizon reaches your gaze.
One day, two more hands sprout, seeking another bosom
and the dance continues, now only imagined,
of the hands of the clock.
You look and you don’t see the butterfly perched on your hand.
And life goes on, spinning you round and round…
Behind and before your blind eyes,
honeyed, silenced, beautiful,
your life continues to burn,
your struggle and your hope.
Your colors and your dreams remain alive,
a mother’s smile,
your forgetfulness and your memories,
your longings.
And nothing fades away!
“Epilogue for Silence”
Today they come down from the hill
rocked by the wind,
escaped from other fingers,
these seven unstitched lines from the poem,
from oblivion, from autumn, from the ivy,
these seven loose verses:
“Dawn breaks.
Mother.
Time passes.
No moon.
Your memories.
Your desires.
Nothing fades away.”
Melancholy…
Peace…
Silence
Original spanish version
Ojos apagados
Amanece.
Comienza el tic-tac de un nuevo reloj,
amanece el tiempo de una nueva vida,
brotan dos manecillas en busca de un seno.
Nacen un llanto y dos ojillos
que tornan en sonrisa el dolor de una madre,
ojillos que pronto perseguirán la estela de las mariposas
y atraparán de sus alas los vivos colores.
Pasa el tiempo…
Dos ojos amelados encienden rojas amapolas
y los trece años,
acarician trenzas y el aroma a cándidos amores,
ojos que apremian sueños y jóvenes primaveras,
que beben del torrente de todos los colores
y apresan a la vida por las esquinas,
por cada uno de sus teñidos rincones.
Y pasa el tiempo…
Y ves girar entre brumas todas las mañanas,
todas las tardes, todas las noches,
y las ahora difusas agujas del reloj.
Ves llegar junto al sol claroscuros que atraviesan tu mirada,
alargados y oscuros presagios asomados a tu mañana,
asomados a tus ojos humedecidos,
sientes a tu lado las lágrimas calladas de una madre.
Ves siluetas danzando por las aceras,
sombras grises que pasan, que chocan,
callan, hablan, sorprenden, hieren, ayudan, besan,
que, a veces, tienden su mano que tú “rechazas”. No la ves.
Sombras que juegan contigo al escondite sin tú quererlo.
Y sigue el tiempo su camino y tu camino…
Y trae luces, noches y días apagados,
farolas encendidas que no iluminan,
que a tu paso no se apartan.
Trae tinieblas sin colores, sin sombras,
manos sin rostro que estrechas y no conoces,
rostros que “ves” por su voz.
Trae miradas amigas que te envuelven,
que miran a tus ojos acaramelados abiertos
y no hallan su mirada.
Y continúa su danza el tiempo…
Y sigue el calendario tejiendo a tu alrededor
jirones de oscuridad, abriles y sueños.
Se asoman a tu vida los veinte años y el “compañero blanco”,
el perfume a mayo, la fragancia a tierra mojada tendida a tus pies,
el olor a asfalto traidor a tus pasos, oculto a tu mirada,
el transcurrir de la brisa mecida en tu rostro.
Y llega el beso tibio del sol naciente,
“sin” sol;
el alboroto tempranero de los gorriones en tu ventana,
“sin” ventana;
el zumbido del abejorro a medio día,
“sin” abejorro;
los atardeceres perfumados de jazmín,
“sin” jazmín;
y el embrujo plateado de luna llena narrado en la noche,
“sin” luna;
no ves llegar de frente el abrazo del amigo.
Colgada de los suspiros, de los labios, de unos dedos,
se asoma a tu vida la palabra “braille”,
por compaña trae del brazo a su amiga la esperanza.
Y no se detiene el tiempo…
Y llegan las caricias enamoradas de cuatro manos
bajo la misma sábana,
sobre dos deseos, sobre la ardiente piel desnuda.
Llegan los textos oídos de los libros,
los versos escuchados del poema,
el silencio de los relatos de papel acariciados,
el color descrito del paisaje, de los cuadros,
llega a tu mirada la magia de la melodía de las siete sonrisas
derramadas por el arcoíris allá en el horizonte.
Un día brotan otras dos manecillas que buscan otro seno
y sigue la danza, ahora tan sólo imaginada,
de las agujas del reloj.
Miras y no ves la mariposa posada en tu mano.
Y sigue la vida gira que te gira…
Tras y ante tus ojos ciegos,
amelados, acallados, bellos,
sigue tu vida encendida,
tu lucha y tu esperanza.
Siguen vivos tus colores y tus sueños,
la sonrisa de una madre,
tus olvidos y tus recuerdos,
tus anhelos.
¡¡Y nada se apaga!!
“Epílogo para el silencio”
Hoy bajan de la colina
mecidos por el viento,
fugados de otros dedos,
estos siete trazos descosidos del poema,
del olvido, del otoño, de la yedra,
estos siete versos sueltos:
“Amanece.
Madre.
Pasa el tiempo.
Sin luna.
Tus recuerdos.
Tus anhelos.
Nada se apaga.”
Melancolía…
Paz…
Silencio
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