Profound Moments

Sometimes I stand in front of the mirror, tracing the lines and curves of my reflection. My eyes, pools of uncertainty; my mouth, a silent witness; the shape of my forehead, marked by the weight of thoughts; the curve of my eyelids, heavy with dreams unfulfilled; the line of my face, a map of experiences both bitter and sweet. How could this flawed, imperfect visage craft verses that speak to the soul? There must be something more… but what? In the labyrinth of thought, I find myself questioning the very act of questioning. To live, truly live, is to lose … Continue reading Profound Moments

 Poets & Typewriters — Verses in Bloom 🌸

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 … Continue reading  Poets & Typewriters — Verses in Bloom 🌸

Hollowed-out Version

I used to love everyone. Absolutely everyone. It was an all-consuming, private intensity, and my heart shattered each time I witnessed someone slowly destroy themselves. They would welcome sadness without a fight, making choices that they knew would hurt them just to feel alive. I found everyone so endearing, with their humanity spilling out in every gesture. As we all aged, my heightened perception became a curse. I gave myself away to everyone I met, believing they needed my heart more than I did. Now, no one would understand that. They probably think I’ve always been cold and distant, incapable … Continue reading Hollowed-out Version

Struggling

Amid adversity and hard work, my place stands resilient. It is a haven where dreams of a brighter future take root and flourish. Surrounded by the echoes of struggle and the scent of sweat, it is a testament to the indomitable spirit of its inhabitants. In this place, hopes for a better world permeate the air, fueling the determination of its people. Each day, they rise with unwavering resolve, ready to face the challenges that lie ahead. They understand that progress is not handed on a silver platter but earned through perseverance and dedication. Through the trials and tribulations, my … Continue reading Struggling

Gardeners

As I walk the sacred path of my tribal heritage, I am deeply connected to the wise gardeners of the past. These benevolent souls nurtured the seeds of wisdom and knowledge, guiding me through life’s labyrinth. They embraced me amidst the small and illiterate, the poor and patched up, seeing beyond the surface to recognize the potential within me. With their guidance, I received the invaluable gift of humility, learning countless life lessons. They showed me that true greatness lies not in wealth or status, but in the ability to empathize and uplift others. They taught me the importance of … Continue reading Gardeners

Hopeless

“The crowd outside continued shouting furiously, but suddenly their cries became lamentations and tears, I’m blind, I’m blind, they were all saying and asking, Where is the door, there was a door here and now it’s gone.” In this haunting moment from Saramago, we are confronted with a profound truth: our suffering is an intrinsic part of our existence, a vicious cycle that we both inflict and endure. If there is a god, then at least there is someone other than humanity to blame for our unspeakable suffering—a suffering we experience precisely because we impose it on ourselves and others. … Continue reading Hopeless

Cronaca della dignità smarrita

In un tempo in cui il silenzio sembra più comodo della verità, ci sono ancora voci che si alzano. Voci che non cercano applausi, ma giustizia. Voci che non si piegano alla convenienza, ma si ergono per ciò che è giusto. Tutti noi che abbiamo ancora la voglia — e il coraggio — di dire una parola di vera e sentita giustizia, siamo i custodi di una fiamma che non deve spegnersi. Ogni giorno, in mezzo alla folla distratta, incontriamo sguardi spenti, anime che hanno smarrito la propria dignità. Non sempre per colpa loro. A volte è il mondo che … Continue reading Cronaca della dignità smarrita

Chronicle: Breath of Gratitude

I write desires and letters to blow softly into your heart. Not as someone who writes just to write, but as someone who stitches words with the care of preparing warm tea on a cold night. Because there are nights when silence weighs heavy, and all one needs is a gesture that whispers, “I’m here.” I wish I could be presence, scent, embrace, or any kindness that holds you now. Maybe a note forgotten on your pillow, or a gentle breeze slipping through the window to remind you that affection exists, even when everything feels far away. There’s a kind … Continue reading Chronicle: Breath of Gratitude

Keep your head up!

As the clouds come together the sky turns from a beautiful blue to a dark hazy grey. During this moment the wind starts to rise, and you see dust particles start to upswing into the air around you. The storm begins to pick up and slowly gain speed, the flag hanging on the pole violently ripples in the wind. Heavy rain pellets start to clang upon the ground. Lightning crashes in the distance, soon after the ferocious boom of thunder erupts. The storm rages on. Finally, the rain slows down. The lightning and thunder fade away in the distance. The … Continue reading Keep your head up!

I saw a monster hovering over the Earth,

Not a raven — but man in his true form,With claws forged from hatred and scorn,Blanketing the world with his own war. I saw it in squares, in screens, on hills,Preaching peace with counterfeit thrills,Feeding the beast with blood-stained deals,While selling weapons like healing pills. “Who are you?”, I cried, drained of hope.And the monster laughed, with a leader’s trope:“I am your mirror, your faith, your scope!” I came not from shadows — but from your ease,From comfort that ignored the deceased,I am your masterpiece: ignorance that appease.” ©️Beatriz Esmer Continue reading I saw a monster hovering over the Earth,