Há dias em que o Brasil parece acordar decidido a provar que não é um país, mas um roteiro escrito por algum roteirista genial e debochado. Não basta a política ser turbulenta, ela precisa ter timing, precisa ter ironia, precisa ter coincidência. Maria do Rosário acorda, abre a janela, respira fundo: é seu aniversário. Talvez pense em bolo, talvez em flores, talvez em mensagens de amigos. O que ela não imagina é que, lá no planalto central, o destino prepara uma surpresa digna de manchete: Jair Bolsonaro, o mesmo que um dia a insultou em público com palavras de baixo … Continue reading Crônica – O Mundo Dá Cambalhota

Who are you, joy? My words are not a toy for you to stir and extirpate from my heart, only to be cast upon the whims of fate. If you are but a ghost of joy and mirth, then surely your place is not here on this earthly plane. If you are an angel, which I find hard to believe, you wouldn’t need to flutter about, restless and unseen, around a marble stone, alone in your slumber and dreams. Who are you, joy? Are you a friend who whispers solace and warmth, or a mere toy that teases with fleeting … Continue reading Joy

Someone once said it is made of poetry and perfumes. But I am made entirely of flesh. Even my anger is flesh, my glances are flesh at the slaughterhouse. Every thought of mine is composed of liquefied flesh. Obscene flesh that beats revolutionary and pulses forbidden, like a tribute to pain. There is not a single feeling in me that is not flesh adrift…😔 ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Even my pain is flesh…

The mornings on the streets of Congonhas do Campo city seem to exhale the poetic scent of baroque history. Its stories, told in verse and prose, breathe and perspire their secrets in the corners of old houses. These houses tell us their fascinating stories, emerging like visions or mirages amid the dense morning fog, filled with essences and sounds that transport us back in time, blending the lives of the living with those of the dead. Anonymous historical figures mingle with contemporary ones, intertwining and planting fallacies and tales from their green mountains and heavenly waterfalls. The wood-burning stove, with … Continue reading Minas Gerais

I refuse to lend my voice to the chorus of war, to the relentless drumbeats of conflict that stain the very earth with the blood we all share. While you may take pride in your warriors, that is your prerogative, and I will not cast judgment upon you for it. Yet, I cannot bring myself to acknowledge these primitive methods of resolving disputes. Instead, I choose to offer my admiration and reverence to those who champion peace, who seek to mend the fractures of the world with compassion and understanding. The anguish befalling the Palestinians is a stain upon humanity, … Continue reading Peace …

We hold onto the belief that affection is not just a tender emotion but a formidable strength, a force that ripples through time and space, yielding bountiful fruits. We place our faith in the continuity of generations, revering and cherishing those who paved the way before us, for we exist as a testament to their enduring legacy. We are because they were, are, and will always be—their essence intertwined with our own, shaping our existence in perpetuity. In the spirit of Ubuntu, we stand united, acknowledging the interconnectedness of humanity, bound by a shared destiny and a collective consciousness. We … Continue reading Ubuntu

They say ‘opposites attract’, but I think people like us fall in love with people like us. We fall in love with ourselves. I think it takes more than just anyone to be with one of us. We see the deeper parts of people. We long for their souls, for their gardens of thought, for feeling their backbone, their spine, inhaling the words they breathe. We see more in people because of what we know ourselves. I think we fall in love with people like us, people with beautiful words and thoughts, and glances at strangers and artistry. We can’t … Continue reading Opposite attraction …

“Where are our wings, father? Why are we not a bird?” I asked with wide-eyed wonder. “It flies inside, daughter,” he replied softly, his voice a gentle murmur of wisdom. “This is our greatest wish, though sometimes we do not even suspect it to be. Believing in wings is a justification for lamenting their absence, allowing us to remain where we are.” His words resonated deeply within me, unlocking a realm of understanding I had never considered. Our wings are not bound by physical form; they are the essence of our spirit, our dreams, and our innermost desires. They soar … Continue reading Wings

Between the tears and the joy, there lies a vulnerable space where I shed my layers and stand exposed, stripped of pretense and facade. In moments of sorrow, I am laid bare, my soul open and raw, unguarded, and unadorned. The tears wash away the masks I wear, leaving me with nothing but my truth, my essence, my humanity. And in the midst of laughter, I find myself equally exposed, my defenses crumbling in the wake of unbridled mirth. The sound of joy peels away the layers of inhibition, revealing the unfiltered, unrefined version of myself. I am naked in … Continue reading I get naked between the crying and the laughter

I wake up in the morning feeling so much love, yet my soul beckons in sadness as I rise to a world where money and power are seen as more important than people. It pains me to see one’s humanity reduced to a mere tool for gain, where the essence of care and compassion is overshadowed by the relentless pursuit of profit. Once-caring souls become distracted, their warmth and empathy dulled by the incessant demands of a materialistic society. The spark that once lit their hearts now flickers weakly, threatened by the cold winds of indifference. In this world, an … Continue reading Life’s Distractions