De las sombras me levanto, hecho de fragmentos, con la piel marcada por historias que ya no pesan en mis hombros.
Soy el eco de mis pasos antiguos, un susurro que se vuelve voz. Renazco de cada caída, más fuerte, más vivo, más yo.
Como el ave que en cenizas halla su fuego, de cada herida brota una flor, y en mis ruinas, he plantado semillas de un mañana que espera en silencio.
Ahora soy el río que no se detiene, que rompe piedras, que cruza abismos. Resiliente, inquebrantable, soy el renacer de mi propio destino.
Y al encontrarme en esta nueva piel, me abrazo sin miedo, sin juicio ni duda, sabiendo que, en cada cambio, en cada quebranto, es mi verdad la que finalmente desnudo.
Porque soy tierra fértil, mar profundo, tempestad y calma, viento y raíz. Me reconstruyo, me deshago, me elevo, eterno ciclo de fuerza sin fin.
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Poema musicalizado con letra de Carmelo G. Zerpa
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Imágenes de Edward Fielding (editadas)
By Carmelo G. Zerpa
From the shadows I rise, torn to pieces, with the skin marked by stories that no longer are hevy on my shoulders.
I am the echo of my ancient steps, a whisper that becomes a voice. I am reborn from each fall, stronger, more alive, more me.
Like the bird that finds its fire in ashes, from each wound a flower sprouts, and in my ruins, I have planted the seeds from one tomorrow that waits in silence.
Now I am the river that does not stay still, breaking stones, crossing abysms. Resilient, inquebrantable, I am the rebirth of my own destiny.
And so finding myself in this new skin, I hug myself without fear, without judgement or doubt, knowing that, at each change, at each sorrow, it is my truth I finally strip.
Because I am fertile land, deep sea, tempest and calm, wind and root. I build myself, I disolve, I elevate, eternal cicle of strengh without end.
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Poem set to music with lyrics by Carmelo Zerpa
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Images by Edward Fielding (edited)/ Translated from Spanish by Mar Martínez
Di Carmelo G. Zerpa
Dalle ombre mi alzo, fatto di frammenti, con la pelle segnata da storie che non pesano più sulle mie spalle.
Sono l’eco dei miei antichi passi, un sussurro che diventa voce. Rinasco da ogni caduta, più forte, più vivo, più me.
Come l’uccello che trova il fuoco tra le ceneri, da ogni ferita nasce un fiore, e nelle mie rovine ho piantato semi di un domani che attende in silenzio.
Ora sono il fiume che non si ferma, chi rompe le pietre, chi attraversa l’abisso. Resistente, indistruttibile, sono la rinascita del mio destino.
E adesso che mi ritrovo in questa nuova pelle, mi abbraccio senza paura, senza giudizio o dubbio, sapendo che, in ogni mutazione, in ogni rottura, è la mia verità che finalmente ho messo a nudo.
Perché sono terra fertile, mare profondo, tempesta e calma, vento e radice. Mi ricostruisco, crollo, mi rialzo, ciclo eterno di forza infinita.
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Poesia musicata con testi di Carmelo G. Zerta
Fotografie da Edward Fielding (editate) /Tradotto dallo spagnolo da Mar Martínez
Un día ya no seré un verbo, seré un nombre o un pronombre inexacto, alguien generoso, quizás me recuerde con algún adjetivo… Seré un singular solitario, yo que tanto amé el plural de los encuentros…
. No podré elegir ningún adverbio que me corteje. No seré presente, ni escribiré en futuro. El pasado será el único puente que me vincule a la historia. No tendré casa, ni ropa, ni joyas, ni posesión alguna.
. Otros habitarán mis espacios, caeré en la desmemoria de los muertos. No dejaré más hijos que aquellos que en mí descubrieron un gesto maternal.
.
Algún árbol por mí plantado quizás sobreviva al maltrato humano y respire cuando yo no pueda hacerlo. Alguno de mis libros quizás sea leído o simplemente mantenga una puerta.
. Mis fotos nada dirán a los ojos de los desconocidos que se desharán de todas ellas. Se perderán mis viajes en la nada, y mis amigos, mis mascotas y mis afectos.
. Quizás algún vestigio de mi paso habitará esa “nube” que no produce agua, ni granizo, ni nieve, ni sombra y que dicen que guarda retazos de lo que para nosotros fue importante.
. O quizás ni eso… Nada seré para nadie en esa nada que envolverá mi todo.
Poema musicalizado con letra de Ina Molina
Biografía breve
Nació en Las Palmas de Gran canaria. Es Diplomada en Magisterio, Licenciada en Pedagogía y Máster en Logopedia; escritora, poeta, comunicadora y dinamizadora cultural. Escribe desde niña y recuerda que el mejor regalo era un cuento. Ha publicado en solitario el poemario Versos heridos (ArtGerust 2014); el libro de relatos Nada es lo que parece (Aguere/Idea mayo 2022); Afurgad, las voces del agua (Editado por el Ilustre Ayuntamiento de Firgas, 2022); el poemario Las esquinas del tiempo (Beginbook, 2022); La mujer del espejo, Relatos al límite (Beginbook Ediciones, 2024) y Un paseo por las emociones (2016 Letras y Sonidos) a tres manos. Ha participado en diversas Antologías de narrativa y poesía, de ámbito local, nacional e internacional. También ha formado parte de proyectos multidisciplinares de pintura, música y palabra. Correctora, prologuista y colaboradora en obras de otros autores y en varias revistas literarias. Ha participado en diversos programas de radio. Conductora y contertulia de varios programas de TV local. Miembro de diversas asociaciones culturales y literarias. Integrante y coordinadora de la directiva del grupo de teatro aficionado El Ómnibus, Teatro del Pueblo (actriz, codirectora y correctora de guiones). Apoya y colabora con la Asociación Canaria de Integración de Salud Mental Espiral a quienes ha donado los beneficios de la venta de una de sus obras. También apoya al Taller de teatro del Centro Penitenciario Las Palmas. Algunos de sus poemas han sido musicados por el cantautor Luis Fajardo y por el Grupo Folclórico Tabaiba.
Participó en diversas actividades de la Feria Internacional del Libro (FIL) de Guadalajara 2025.
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Fotografías de Galileo Contreras
By Ina Molina Pérez
One day I will no longer be a verb, I will be an inaccurate noun or a pronoun, someone generous, may remember me with some adjective… I will be a singular loner, I, who loved the plural of encounters so much…
.Breve biografia
I won’t be able to choose any adverb to court me. I will not be the present, nor will I write in the future. The past will be the only bridge to link me to history. I will have no house, no clothes, No jewelry, no possessions at all.
. Others will inhabit my spaces, I will fall into the forgetfulness of the dead. I will not leave any more children than those that discovered a maternal gesture in me.
. Some tree planted by me may survive human abuse and breathe when I can’t. Some of my books may be read or just keep a door.
. My photos will say nothing to the eyes of strangers who will get rid of all of them. My trips will be lost in nothingness, and so my friends, my pets and my affections.
. Maybe some vestige of my passage will inhabit that “cloud” that does not produce water, no hail, no snow, no shadow, the cloud they say it keeps pieces of what was important to us.
. Or maybe not even that… I will be nothing to anyone in that nothingness that will envelop my everything.
Poem set to music with lyrics by Ina Molina
Brief biography
She was born in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria. She has a Diploma in Teaching, a Degree in Pedagogy and a Master in Speech Therapy; writer, poet, communicator and cultural promoter. She has been writing since she was a child and remembers that the best gift was a story. He has published solo the collection of poems Versos injured (ArtGerust 2014); the story book Nothing is what it seems (Aguere/Idea May 2022); Afurgad, the voices of the water (Edited by the Illustrious City Council of Firgas, 2022); the collection of poems The Corners of Time (Beginbook, 2022); The Woman in the Mirror, Tales to the Limit (Beginbook Ediciones, 2024) and A Walk Through Emotions (2016 Letters and Sounds) in three hands. She has participated in various Anthologies of narrative and poetry, locally, nationally and internationally. She has also been part of multidisciplinary projects of painting, music and words. Proofreader, prologue writer and collaborator in works by other authors and in several literary magazines. She has participated in various radio programs. Host and talk show host of several local TV programs. Member of various cultural and literary associations. Member and coordinator of the board of directors of the amateur theater group El Ómnibus, Teatro del Pueblo (actress, co-director and script editor). She supports and collaborates with the Canarian Association for Mental Health Integration Spiral to whom she has donated the profits from the sale of one of her works. She also supports the theater workshop at the Las Palmas Penitentiary Center. Some of her poems have been set to music by the singer-songwriter Luis Fajardo and by the Tabaiba Folkloric Group.
She participated in various activities at the Guadalajara 2025 International Book Fair.
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Translated from English by Mar Martínez / Photos by Galileo Contreras
Di Ina Molina Pérez
Un giorno non sarò più un verbo, sarò un sostantivo o un pronome impreciso, qualcun generoso, magari ricordami con qualche aggettivo… Sarò un singolare solitario, Io che amavo tanto il plurale degli incontri…
. Non potrò scegliere nessun avverbio che mi corteggi. Non sarò presente, né scriverò in futuro. Il passato sarà l’unico ponte che mi collegherà alla storia. Non avrò casa, né vestiti, Niente gioielli, niente oggetti.
.
Altri abiteranno i miei spazi, Cadrò nell’oblio dei morti. Non lascerò più figli di quelli che in me hanno scoperto un gesto materno.
. Qualche albero piantato da me potrebbero sopravvivere agli abusi umani e respirare quando io non posso. Alcuni dei miei libri potrebbero essere letti o semplicemente tenere una porta.
.
Le mie foto non diranno nulla agli occhi degli sconosciuti Si sbarazzeranno di tutti loro. I miei viaggi si perderanno nel nulla, e i miei amici, i miei animali domestici e i miei affetti.
. Forse qualche traccia del mio passaggio abiterà quella “nuvola” che non produce acqua, niente grandine, niente neve, niente ombra e che dicono conserva pezzi di ciò che era importante per noi.
O forse nemmeno quello… Non sarò niente per nessuno in quel nulla che avvolgerà il mio tutto.
Poesia musicata con testi di Ina Molina
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Breve biografia
È nata a Las Palmas de Gran Canaria. Ha il Diploma di Magistero, la Laurea in Pedagogia e il Master in Logopedia; scrittore, poeta, comunicatore e promotore culturale. Scrive fin da quando era bambina e ricorda che il regalo più bello era una storia. Ha pubblicato da solista la raccolta di poesie Versos feriti (ArtGerust 2014); il libro di fiabe Niente è ciò che sembra (Aguere/Idea maggio 2022); Afurgad, le voci dell’acqua (a cura dell’Illustre Consiglio Comunale di Firgas, 2022); la raccolta di poesie The Corners of Time (Beginbook, 2022); La donna allo specchio, Racconti al limite (Beginbook Ediciones, 2024) e Una passeggiata tra le emozioni (2016 Lettere e suoni) a tre mani. Ha partecipato a varie antologie di narrativa e poesia, a livello locale, nazionale e internazionale. Preso parte anche a progetti multidisciplinari di pittura, musica e parole. Correttore di bozze, prologo e collaboratore in opere di altri autori e in diverse riviste letterarie. Ha partecipato a vari programmi radiofonici. Conduttrice di talk show di diversi programmi televisivi locali. Membro di diverse associazioni culturali e letterarie. Membro e coordinatore del consiglio di amministrazione del gruppo teatrale amatoriale El Ómnibus, Teatro del Pueblo (attrice, co-regista e sceneggiatrice). Sostiene e collabora con l’Associazione Canaria per l’Integrazione della Salute Mentale Spiral alla quale ha devoluto il ricavato della vendita di una sua opera. Sostiene inoltre il laboratorio teatrale presso il Centro Penitenziario di Las Palmas. Alcune delle sue poesie sono state musicate dal cantautore Luis Fajardo e dal Gruppo Folklorico Tabaiba.
Ha partecipato a varie attività alla Fiera Internazionale del Libro di Guadalajara 2025.
Tradotto dallo spagnolo da Mar Martínez / Foti di Galileo Contreras
La atmósfera de la fiesta destellaba bullicio. Videos en la pantalla de plasma y tu celular recibiendo felicitaciones. La neblina escurridiza del cigarrillo penetrará en las conversaciones y la inquietud por escucharlos llegará. Entonces Dionisio, como toro en ruedo, portará un libro. Ante el coro implacable, destaparás el envoltorio y leerás el título en voz alta Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada. Todas las voces reirán con sarcasmo. Tu amigo tomará su inseparable requinto y dirá: «Tienes que seguir aprendiendo a tocar la guitarra además de aprenderte el cancionero de Luis Miguel y Pedro Infante, con eso la tendrás idiotizada». El concierto de carcajadas resonará en el edificio. Luis te recomendará varias páginas de internet para cocinar postres y cosas sencillas… Mientras las carcajadas persisten una voz varonil gritará: «¡Saaaluuud!»… El desasosiego de tu interior crecerá frente al espejo de tu fanfarronería. Recordarás las atenciones de los futuros suegros halagando: caballerosidad y porte siempre apuesto. Sólo faltan unas semanas para la boda y nunca has estado con una mujer. Sentirás que un nudo aprieta tu garganta. Pasará algo anormal, callarán. Dionisio y Saúl vendarán tus ojos, en medio de las tinieblas escucharás barullo y percibirás un perfume femenino. Al ritmo de la música recuperarás la luz para contemplar una emorme caja de regalo. Los aplausos y el estribillo para que abras su contenido serán implacables; entonces, el regalo se abrirá solo dejando sus cuatro paredes besando el piso… Todo se verá como un sueño a media luz y el humo del cigarrillo formará una neblina azulosa, la cual será tan real como tu nerviosismo. Su blusa dejará al descubierto piel trigueña y un bello ombligo… Tu cuerpo servirá de asiento a la criatura enigmática, que nunca habías visto en persona, sólo en fotos y películas. Esta noche será trascendental. Ella, incomparable experta, te incitará a gozar de ese placer desconocido. Te envolverás en una pasión exquisita; porque entre besos excitantes te mirarás en sus ojos y ella te susurrará con voz queda: «Siempre me recordarás».
Fragmento de El Sueño y Otros Cuentos, disponible en FIL Guadalajara 2025, Prometeo Editores, contacto colaboracionespapalotzi@gmail.com
By Berónica Palacios
The atmosphere sparkled bustle. Videos on the plasma screen and your cell phone receiving congratulations. The elusive haze of the cigarette will penetrate the conversations and the anxiety to listen to them will arrive. Then Dionysus, like a bull in the ring, will carry a book. Before the relentless chorus, you will uncover the packaging and read the title aloud. Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. All voices will laugh sarcastically. Your friend will take his inseparable requinto guitar and say: «You have to continue learning to play the guitar in addition to learning the Luis Miguel and Pedro Infante songbook, with that you will have her idiotic.» The concert of laughter will echo through the building. Luis will recommend several internet pages to cook desserts and simple things… While the laughter persists a manly voice will shout: «Cheeers!»… The restlessness inside you will grow in front of the mirror of your boasting. You will remember the flattering attentions of the future in-laws: chivalry and always handsome bearing. The wedding is only a few weeks away and you’ve never been with a woman. You will feel a lump tightening in your throat. Something abnormal will happen, they will remain silent. Dionisio and Saúl will blindfold your eyes, in the midst of darkness you will hear noise and perceive a feminine perfume. To the rhythm of the music you will recover the light to contemplate an amazing gift box. The applause and the chorus for you to open its content will be relentless; then, the gift will open on its own, leaving its four walls kissing the floor… Everything will look like a dream in half-light and the cigarette smoke will form a bluish haze, which will be as real as your nervousness. Her blouse will reveal brown skin and a beautiful navel… Your body will serve as a seat for the enigmatic creature, which you have never seen in person, only in photos and movies. Tonight will be transcendental. She, an incomparable expert, will encourage you to enjoy that unknown pleasure. You will be enveloped in an exquisite passion, because between exciting kisses you will look into her eyes and she will whisper to you in a quiet voice: «You will always remember me.»
Fragment of The Dream and Other Stories, available at Book Fair Guadalajara 2025, Prometeo Editores, contact colaboracionespapalotzi@gmail.com
— Good morning darling! There is coffee in the coffee maker.
Mario places the pliers he’s carrying in his right hand on the table and takes a sip from the cup under the strainer. The cup hits the marble top.
—You’ve made it wrong, Diana. It came out cold!
The gate slams shut. Diana empties the strainer and fills it with fresh ground coffee, then she makes another hot cup.
This time Mario returns before the coffee gets cold and he takes the cup Diana has prepared to his desk. Like every morning for a year, he turns the television on. It’s still early and Diana lies down on the couch. The gray echo of the 8:00 a.m. news extinguishes itself between tears and scattered voices that rise to the table.
Diana’s head sinks into the almost flat armrest. Behind the window, the fog turns the amber flowers silver. Diana’s gaze is fixed on the ceiling while her fantasy recreates long walks by the sea.
— I’m going out for a walk, Mario solemnly informs.
—But, you can’t see anything…
—Precisely for that reason. I want to see the fog…
—Shall I go with you?
— No! You stay here. I’m not going to wait for you to get dressed. Goodbye, I’m leaving.
Diana closes the book that her academy instructor recommended and sinks a little deeper into the couch. The tedium of the cloudy morning and the chiaroscuro under the skylight have overcome her spirit before getting dressed.
That Patti Smith song she has set as an alarm tone plays: “There’s a town in north Ontario… Blue, blue windows behind the stars…” Diana visualizes herself floating over one of the clouds outside, below there is a beach where the waves break gently on the sand.
The timbre of the melody envelops the entire room: “Yellow moon on the rise, big birds flying across the sky, throwing shadows on our eyes…” The nostalgic and almost mystical guitars feel relaxing: “Leave us helpless, helpless, helpless…”
Diana’s back progressively sinks into the couch, her body is filled with music. Suddenly, Margot’s fists clout violently on the door:
-Diana! Diana! Dianaa! Your alarm has rung twice!
Diana wakes up with a flinch and reaches out to turn off the alarm clock. Then she hears Margot’s footsteps walking down the hallway towards her apartment. She remembers now that Mario went out for a walk a while ago and pictures him wandering among suspended water droplets. Although curfew is far away, the feeling of dread seems to float between the houses all day.
From the depths of her conscience doubts arise about many things. She even doubts reality itself. Could the conversation with Mario have been a dream? Diana goes from the coach to the room and verifies that Mario is not there.
Esclavos del rojo coca-cola
crucificado de la publicidad…
Esclavos del rojo coca-cola
crucificado de la publicidad
Entre burbujas, cubitos y limón
despiertas agridulces resplandores
y murmullos de mayo
en terrazas azules
Con la persiana entreabierta del verano
en espera de que el sol nuble la vista
con nubes de algodón de azúcar
a saltos entre tormentas y versos
Por Mar Martínez y Galileo Contreras / Imágenes de Lunnático
Slaves of the coca-cola red
crucified on advertising
Among bubbles, ice cubes, and lemon,
you awaken bittersweet glows
and murmurs of may
on blue balconies
With the summer shutter ajar
waiting for the sun to haze the view
with cotton-candy clouds
jumping between storms and verses
By Mar Martínez & Galileo Contreras / Images from Lunnatico
EL ARTCA 