Through the pulsing city streets, a quiet ballet unfolds:

poets with flowers in hand and typewriters in their hearts.

Each keystroke is a sigh, each petal a secret —

verses pour like sacred wine, sweet and bitter,

intoxicating distracted souls.

They walk through concrete and chaos,

sowing beauty in the cracks of everyday life.

Their words, as fragile as flowers,

carry the weight of love, loss, and hope.

And they invite us to feel — deeply.

In the dance of contrasts,

the poets celebrate life’s paradox:

the sweet that burns, the bitter that heals.

“You’re in my blood like holy wine,”

they write — reminding us

that even pain holds poetry.

Among honking horns and hurried steps,

a temple of introspection rises.

There, time slows down,

and we’re touched by verses that return us to ourselves.

Let us walk with them.

Let their flowers and words

awaken us to the hidden miracle

in the corners of existence.

©️ Beatriz Esmer