The word that is right now on the tip of my tongueIs no word at all.It’s not fancyNothing extraordinary for others.It’s rather the translation of the feelingThis particular word provoques in me.It stirs my very soulIt pains meAnd at the same time it makes me full of joyBecause despite all the sadnessWe exist…❤️ Continue reading Word …

Emotions run as deep as oceans, there exists a paradoxical elixir – passion. It is said to be toxic, a perilous potion that ensnares the soul, yet it is this very toxin we crave. We are drawn to its danger, its power to overwhelm our senses, to make us feel alive. For what is art without the intoxication of passion? It is the fire that fuels creation, the storm that stirs the calm. True art, they say, is born from love that is arduous, like the unrequited yearnings of Calvin, or love that is elusive, slipping through fingers like grains … Continue reading The Art of Unrealized Love

How long will you bear the weight of silence before it shatters you? What makes it so challenging for you to open your heart and accept assistance? Like a forest fire dwindling to its final embers, you are a vibrant flame that continues to flicker. I can sense it in the ashes of your stride. I wonder if the metaphorical prison cells you carry on your shoulders ever become too burdensome. I wonder if they’re the cause of your faltering steps. I question if the prison cells you bear, affixed to your speech, ever weigh too heavily on your words. … Continue reading Shout out!

Foi através de muita luta, de muita dor.Das senzalas aos morros, da força, do lamento.Cada passo marcado pela resistência, cada voz ecoando a história que tentaram apagar. Somos herdeiros de guerreiros que nunca se curvaram.Nossa liberdade não foi dádiva, foi conquista.Nosso orgulho não é concessão, é legado. Seguimos firmes, de punhos cerrados e cabeças erguidas,porque sabemos que a luta continua,mas também sabemos que nossa força é imortal. 13 de maio, 137 anos — Abolição TraídaAinda há correntes a serem quebradas,mas seguimos, como sempre, na linha de frente. Axé! ✊🏾🔥 ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Não veio do céu, nem das mãos de Izabel!

There are moments that I yearn to escape from, to shed this skin that serves as a transient sanctuary. Yet, there are milestones where I find solace in my own presence, marveling at the distance my spirit has traversed. I strive to distill my days into simplicity, but I encounter souls, spaces, and objects that stir my core, inundating me with a torrent of emotions that remain an alien dialect to my speech. I am youthful, at least in spirit, and it feels as though I have witnessed a treasure chest of bygone eras. The purpose of my existence is … Continue reading The Half-Past-One Blues

How do you find meaning in your life? Have you ever wondered what might have been if you had made different choices? I believe we are all here for a specific purpose, and maybe we will never fully realize why we are here. Maybe your life seems rather insignificant in the scheme of things… but you know what? Maybe it’s not time for you to find out what it is you’re meant to do, or maybe your purpose is to be in the service field to help people who cannot help themselves. I often wondered what my purpose on earth … Continue reading Purpose

I am sorry for the way the dayshave grown heavy—for the way I have let myselfcarry a weightthat pulled me down from the skyover & over & over again,a continuous rain. For these days when namesare not enough—but spring is here,a season I have always called my own.And blooming has taken me by surprise,an opening to rediscoverall that once made me happy—but I let fall awaywith the sky,with the constant rain,with all the timeI feel I am losing. Teach me to be myself again—to sign everything with my full nameand hold no shame.Remember me as I was,as I am trying … Continue reading Where is the poetry …

It was early morning when the first sip touched my lips. The world was still asleep, but in the steaming cup lay an invitation to wakefulness—a silent pact between coffee and writing.   They say it all began in Ethiopia, with a shepherd named Kaldi and his dancing goats. They chewed on red fruits and suddenly seemed possessed by a mysterious energy. Kaldi tried the beans and felt the same awakening. Thus, coffee was born, a secret revealed by chance, soon crossing seas and deserts to reach the tables of thinkers and poets.   In the cafés of Paris, Voltaire … Continue reading Coffee and Words  

Mãe. A palavra que ecoa pela casa em diferentes tons e urgências. Às vezes, é um chamado doce, quase preguiçoso: — Mãe, tô com fome!Outras vezes, vem carregado de angústia: — Mãe, estou com medo! E lá está ela, sempre pronta. Com um prato na mão ou um abraço no peito. Porque mãe não é só quem alimenta o corpo, mas também quem sacia a alma. O tempo passa, os filhos crescem, mas o chamado nunca desaparece. Ele muda de forma, se disfarça em mensagens rápidas ou olhares silenciosos. Mas mãe entende. Mãe sempre entende. E mesmo quando os filhos … Continue reading Mãe, tô com fome! Mãe, estou com medo…

… et dans la logique de la séduction, elle a paré son corps de rencontre et sa peau comme langage. La langue comme invitation. Elle a pris du vin et du désir ; le gémissement, la voix de l’âme ; dans le sexe, son dialogue. Le drap était un repos dans la nuit qui s’est éveillée en silence. Amant, marchand de promesses ; il a emporté avec lui tous ses amours. Elle a dénudé son corps, mais ne s’est pas révélée entièrement. Des yeux qui aiment parce qu’ils sont fermés ; des rendez-vous fixés parce qu’ils sont en manque. Son … Continue reading Logigue