If they ask you to love in whispers when your heart beats like thunder, they are not your match.If they demand a symphony when your love is a gentle hum, they are not your home.Your love is not clay to be shaped by someone else’s hands.It is iron—forged in fire, resilient and true—crafted to reflect your spirit, not their expectations.Let it be loud. Let it be soft. Let it be yours. ❤️🙏 ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading If They Ask …

She was born wild and curious, a spirit untamed by the confines of ordinary life. Her eyes sparkled with the light of a thousand stars, each one a testament to her boundless curiosity. A cage is no place for someone like that, someone who dances with the wind and sings with the rain. “I play with the fire of my own truth,” she told me, her voice a melody of conviction and passion. “I will burn for the things I love.” And in that moment, I saw her for what she truly was: a blazing comet, streaking across the sky, … Continue reading Born Wild

Smoke still sits on the battlefieldBut I hear music in the airOr is that the ringing in my earsMaybe I’m to shell shocked to careI’ve lost my bearings, I’m not sure whereTo go, or turn, or stop, or stare Looks like rubble around me I told myself I’d never be weak enough to fightYet here I am, sprawled out in a meadowStained with surprise and subtle sorrowNot a mark on me butBewilderment slips out of me like bloodDazed and confused as to exactly what happened Something tells me this isn’t the end Somewhere a lone sentinel standsSeeking my heart with … Continue reading Tears

May I not follow those who turn aside but let no one go astray following my footsteps. In the quiet moments of reflection, I find myself yearning for a path that is true and unwavering. The world is filled with distractions, and the rush to arrive often blinds us to the beauty that lies along the way. May the rush to arrive not distract me from the joy of seeing the simple flowers that are at the side of the road. Each petal, each bloom, a testament to the quiet wonders that life offers. I wish to walk gently, not … Continue reading Reflections on the Path

When did I become so old? The question lingers in the air, a whisper of time’s relentless march. The woman staring back at me from the mirror is a stranger, her eyes a reflection of years gone by, yet her spirit remains untouched by the passage of time. Clearly, the woman I see in the mirror is not the woman held prisoner inside this broken body. She is vibrant, her heart beating with the rhythm of dreams yet to be fulfilled. Her laughter echoes with the innocence of youth, a melody that defies the lines etched upon her face. Her … Continue reading Time

I am the poet of the Body, and I am the poet of the Soul.The pleasures of heaven dwell within me, and the torments of hell echo through me.The former I graft onto my being, nurturing these joys until they bloom and multiply.They are the light that guides my steps, the warmth that sustains my spirit. Yet the pains of hell are not merely endured—they are transmuted.I take these agonies, these crucibles of existence, and render them into a new language.Through poetic alchemy, suffering finds its voice—refined into something profound and enduring.In this transformation, I uncover strength, resilience, and a … Continue reading The Poet’s Duality

Era uma manhã qualquer, dessas em que o café esfria antes do primeiro gole e o relógio parece zombar da pressa. Dona Lúcia, viúva há mais de uma década, observava pela janela o ipê amarelo da praça. Todo ano, ele florescia como se nada tivesse mudado. Mas tudo mudara. Ela costumava dizer que a vida era feita de pequenas posses: o marido, os filhos, a casa, o jardim. Cada coisa com seu lugar, cada afeto com seu nome. Até que, um por um, os pertences da alma começaram a escorregar pelos dedos. O marido se foi, os filhos se mudaram, … Continue reading Crônica: O Terreno Invisível

Il y a des instants dans la vie où l’on se surprend à courir après des choses éphémères — des rêves brillants mais fuyants, des regards qui ne se posent jamais, des succès qui glissent entre les doigts. On s’épuise à vouloir attraper ce qui ne veut pas être saisi, comme ces papillons qui dansent dans l’air, insaisissables et légers. Mais un jour, au détour d’une pensée calme, une vérité douce s’impose : et si le secret n’était pas dans la chasse, mais dans l’accueil ? Et si, au lieu de courir, on s’arrêtait pour planter, pour nourrir, pour créer … Continue reading 🌿 Le Jardin Intérieur

Na padaria da esquina, Seu Alfredo abre as portas às seis em ponto. Não porque o relógio manda, mas porque o cheiro do pão quente é sua forma de dizer “bom dia” ao mundo. Ele tem 78 anos e uma saúde que desafia estatísticas. Quando perguntam se tem planos para o futuro, ele ri com os olhos e responde: “Meu plano é não deixar o pão queimar.” Vivemos como se o amanhã fosse um contrato assinado em cartório. Planejamos viagens, aposentadorias, reformas na cozinha. Guardamos garrafas de vinho para ocasiões especiais que nunca chegam. E enquanto isso, o hoje escorre … Continue reading O Dono do Amanhã

In our small house, where the walls still lean in to listen, I speak to the cupboards as if they might answer. I tell them I needed a bit more from you—more warmth in the silences, more staying in the leaving. You and me, we were sliced clean by the sound of feet brushing off the last porch step. That sound—sharp and final—hissed through the air like blackbird calls caught in rusted wire, like wounded iron groaning under its own weight. It was the kind of sound that gas leaks make when no one’s watching. Almost no signs. Almost. Didn’t … Continue reading Home