Like a fragile feather, I am reminded of my own delicacy. A mere mark of ink on a page, resisting its own depth and darkness, I am but a fleeting presence in this world. Yet, I know that the solution does not lie in force, but in the gentle touch of minimal pressure, in the art of repositioning, in the beauty of response. The textures of this world have conditioned me for the rough gravel within myself. But now, I am learning to embrace the creaking of my mind’s hinges, to set the clamor they conduct to music. For it … Continue reading Fragile

La vita non t’insegna ad essere forte, te lo impone, e non gliene fotte un cazzo se hai studiato e imparato, ti interroga ogni santo giorno. Questa frase affronta in modo diretto e crudele la realtà della vita. Ci ricorda che la vita non è un insegnante paziente e premuroso, ma piuttosto un dittatore implacabile che non si cura delle tue conoscenze o della tua preparazione. Ogni giorno la vita ci mette alla prova e ci sottopone a interrogatori continui, indipendentemente dal nostro background accademico o dalle nostre esperienze. Per affrontare questa dura realtà, dobbiamo essere forti. La forza non … Continue reading La vita non t’insegna ad essere forte, te lo impone…

Nous portons tous des cicatrices, témoins silencieux de nos vies, inscrites sur nos peaux comme des histoires gravées dans la pierre. Certaines sont des lignes douces, tissées avec délicatesse, des souvenirs qui se sont estompés avec le temps. D’autres sont des failles profondes, des abysses de douleur, marquant nos âmes de leur empreinte indélébile. Il y a des cicatrices comme des fils de cotonnade, douces au toucher, rappels de moments de guérison et de résilience. Elles racontent des récits de renaissance, de luttes surmontées, et de forces retrouvées. Et puis, il y a ces plaies déchirantes, des blessures qui déchirent … Continue reading Nos cicatrices sont des poèmes

Someday, the ink will flow from my pen like a river, carrying with it every unsaid word and unspoken thought. On that day, I will lay down my language, forever, and those who seek to connect with me will need to have mastered the delicate art of touch, without inflicting any pain. In the absence of words, our souls will speak through the gentle brush of fingertips, the warmth of an embrace, and the silent language of eyes meeting in understanding. No longer bound by the limitations of vocabulary, we will find solace in the tender caress that conveys more … Continue reading Someday …

In the quiet embrace of time’s tender touch, there comes a moment when, with joyous elation, you will find yourself at the threshold of your own being. Standing before the looking glass, your reflection will meet your gaze, and in that sacred exchange, both will smile at the other’s arrival, as if long-lost friends reunited at last. “Sit here. Eat,” you will say to your own reflection, extending an invitation to partake in the feast of life. Once more, you will embrace the unfamiliar soul that resides within, and in this reunion, love will bloom anew for the stranger who … Continue reading Sit here. Eat…

Lay your thoughts to rest, like a lullaby for the weary mind. Let them drift into the tranquil embrace of slumber, releasing their hold on the moon of your heart. Do not allow their weight to dim the gentle glow of your inner light. Embrace the silence, the stillness of the night, and let your mind be free from the ceaseless chatter. Release the burdens of overthinking and surrender to the serenity of the present moment. In this quietude, find solace in the soft radiance of your heart’s moon, unobscured by the shadows of restless thoughts. Allow yourself to be … Continue reading Rest

In the whispers of the night, she carries the weight of history in her voice. The echoes of Castro Alves’ golden nightingale, the resounding melody of Mandela’s South African struggle, and the vibrant spirit of Salvador townships are etched into the creases of her elbows. Her braids hold the strength of black fists, intertwined with the courage of Malcolm and Lumumba, as they sink into the depths of her lungs, pulling at the segregation zones that scar her soul. The cobblestones of Pelourinho, the remnants of Senzalas, and the legacy of Palmares are imprinted on her soles, where the jagged … Continue reading Black Awareness Day

I am born from the illusion, where the lines between reality and fantasy blur in the dance of confused comings and goings. I am tethered to the insistence of history, woven into the fabric of time, a believer in the tales that have shaped my existence. I lose myself in the pages of novels, seeking solace in the stories that unfold within their boundless realms. Each chapter unfolds like a delivery, a gift of new beginnings, yet often accompanied by the weight of regrets that linger in the wake of their endings. I am a product of aching nostalgia, where … Continue reading My foolish heart …

When I love, I surrender my heart completely, devouring it with a fervor that consumes my very being. In the same breath, I find myself entangled in the paradox of emotions, where love and hate intertwine, and adoration and disdain coexist within the chambers of my soul. In the depths of my love, I am consumed by a passion that knows no bounds, a fire that burns with an intensity that cannot be quenched. Yet, within this inferno, there lies a tempest of conflicting emotions, where love and hate dance a delicate waltz, and adoration and disdain share the same … Continue reading Duality

Within the chambers of my soul, a symphony of voices echoes through the corridors of my being. Some speak in whispers of love, while others roar with anger. Some remain in silent contemplation, while bitterness lingers in the shadows. Wisdom and voiceless echoes also dwell within me, creating a cacophony of existence. It’s a struggle, an ongoing battle where each moment becomes a conquest for a different persona, claiming dominion over my thoughts and actions. In this mosaic of personas, I often find myself embodying them all, becoming a kaleidoscope of identities. It’s in those moments that I am closest … Continue reading There are people living inside of me