On the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, we remember the powerful legacy of the Mirabal sisters, whose tragic fate gave birth to this significant date. “Se me matam, levantarei os braços do túmulo e serei mais forte.” With these words, Minerva Mirabal, an activist from the Dominican Republic, responded to those who warned her that the regime of President Rafael Leónidas Trujillo (1930-1961) would kill her in the early 1960s. Minerva’s defiance and bravery, along with her sisters Patria and María Teresa, symbolize the unwavering spirit of resistance against tyranny and oppression. The Mirabal sisters, known … Continue reading Las Mariposas

Written on November 19, 2016 This time last year, I was completely broken. I had just lost a love that I believed was endless. Even while still with him, the flames had long since died, and I knew there was no love left. I watched the person I thought was meant for me move on to love someone new and treat me so badly, in a very abusive and toxic relationship. I had no one to talk to. I had no one to turn to. Too many people were telling me to get over it, and not enough were even … Continue reading Confession…

We betray our mother tongues, embracing the languages of foreign nations that will never fully embrace us. In our pursuit to belong, we allow the strangeness to infiltrate our speech, twisting our words until our original tongues become a distant memory. The familiar cadences and rhythms of our native languages, once flowing effortlessly, now stumble and falter. We mold our voices to fit a new vernacular, seeking acceptance in a world that views us as outsiders. In this transformation, we lose pieces of ourselves, fragments of identity slipping away with every foreign word. Our mouths, once accustomed to the warm … Continue reading Mater Tongue

It’s about the weight of insignificance, the feeling of being a mere speck in the grand scheme of things. It’s about the journey, the tracks stretching into the distance, leading to an uncertain destination that we call home. It’s about fading away, blurring into the background, leaving behind a hollow space that once held laughter and warmth. It’s about the longing for light and love, the desperate gasp for air in a world that feels suffocating. It’s about the struggle to hold onto words, to poetry, to meaning, as they slip through our fingers like sand. It’s about the ache … Continue reading Cozy Home …

Love must know how to speak, using words that exist only in the “time of delicacy.” I promise to cherish you until love itself falls ill, ill… And because of this mysterious time, it is necessary to love carefully, with the eyes, with the ears, with the hand that gently touches, to avoid causing harm… while there is still time. In the fragile moments where love lives and breathes, we must tread gently, with a sensitivity that honors the delicate nature of our hearts. Each look, each whisper, each tender touch should be infused with care, as if navigating a … Continue reading About the Delicacy of Love

Dear Bia, As I reflect upon the passage of time, I find myself in the gentle embrace of old age. My physical form may show signs of wear, with leathery skin, white hair, and replaced teeth. My vision has grown blurry, and my memories have softened around the edges. Yet, despite these changes, I want you to know that I am still worthy, and I am still a woman. Within me, the desire to feel the warmth of someone’s hand in mine remains. I still laugh, and I still cry. I yearn to be seen as beautiful, respected, and listened … Continue reading Barueri, August 25, 1996

I am the dancer and the Dance, moving to the rhythm of the universe. I am the Dreamer and the dream, creating worlds within worlds, infinite possibilities waiting to be explored. Buddha, Christ, Shiva, Tao, all Orishas, all paths leading to the same destination. I am the Song the Brahman sings, the melody that echoes through the cosmos, a symphony of love and light. Some pray Om, Ah-Ham, Amen, their words a reflection of their journey. Others follow what they were programmed in, their beliefs a product of their environment. But in the end, words mean nothing, just passing waves … Continue reading Peace & Love

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

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…

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