Iridescent – by Quinny Martínez

Picture taken from Pinterest


My view of colors through this old lens have changed; poems shared three weeks ago seem to be written on another plane of the universe, they become more intense, shortening the distance between imaginary, and the beating of a reality that resists. Discretion wears an iridescent black, accompanied by a different, distant and heartbreaking death ritual. Skeptics in my environment have become sacred. At home we have mutated, we are being touched by the obscene cloak of his holiness COVID19: he commands and seizes breaths from the poor and the rich interchangeably, he has shaken the ego of those who believed they were kings of the human and the divine; he has snatched Aprils and has quarantined the colors of spring.

I see things differently; it hurts, but I resign myself to these macondian holy rituals, praying is now fashionable. My pupils have begun to discover another way of living, skies are blue, birds singing songs of freedom without the agitation of those who do not have feathers, stews of absent grandmothers are medicine against longing, distance is no longer typical of bad trending arrogance; you have what you can, and free will is limited to spaces confined by fear. Nets are no longer synonymous of good fishing, but they raise the moral of the human and the pagan, applause to which I join in the middle of so much absence tear me down; even so, I continue to beat through a different palette, an iridescent gray palette…


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