I stand amidst the whispers of an unknown origin, a genesis shrouded in the cloak of winter or the meandering paths of a river. I am the seeker of voices that are not heard, words that are not spoken, and silences that are not quiet. It is not in the clarity of speech that I am called, but from the cobblestone alleys of dreams, from the intertwining limbs of night’s darkest trees.

In the tumult of blazing embers or in the solemnity of my solitary journey, I find myself faceless, a phantom to the world, yet profoundly touched. This touch—it is not of flesh, but of essence; it is not of sound, but of soul. It is the touch of poetry.

Poetry is the breath of the unseen, the pulse of the unspoken. It is the art that paints feelings without a brush, that sings melodies without a voice. It is the language that my heart knows, the rhythm that my spirit dances to, the melody that resonates within the chambers of my inner self.

Through this mysterious caress, I am reborn. The face I once lacked is now sculpted with the stanzas of life, the beats of existence, and the whispers of the cosmos. In poetry, I find not just a collection of verses, but the core of my being, the silent symphony that plays the soundtrack of my life.

Copyright © Beatriz Esmer

Dry Pastel Art – Collection Dance