Blindness Poem by Daniel Quintero

The steps of the blind are seconds
in a clock where doesn’t fall night nor morning
between his face and the time
there’s the fog
and when they get closer
they both feel a broken mirror in the dark

His eyes cross another places
with his face, like a music
that walks by another paths with our ears

Will he feel like deserts our mazes?
His fingers touch the sand and the ashes
and intuits that one is time
and the other what time forgot

His dawns and evenings don’t touch the sky
his voice drag trough words like a wave
and not like a hand

His pupils stand still like a unlit candle
that doesn’t feel darkness.
He touches the clocks, that are everywhere
and feel the time, wich is nowhere.
The time and the blind are the center of the same desert.