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

We have confined the divine to the hallowed halls of churches, to the extraordinary acts of healing, to the miraculous and the marvelous. We strive fervently to summon celestial fire in our worship, yearning for a tangible sign of the sacred. Yet, in our earnest pursuit, we often overlook the gentle whispers of grace that surround us daily. God’s favor is not solely in the grandiose displays of power but in the tender moments that touch our souls. It is in the warmth of the sun that kisses our cheeks, a reminder of the light that guides us. It is … Continue reading The Divine in Everyday Moments

He walked with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, each step a gentle glide as if he were floating just above the ground. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and every so often, he would pause to take in his surroundings with a serene gaze. It was as if he existed in a bubble of tranquility, a world of his own making, untouched by the chaos around him. When I finally mustered the courage to approach him, I was met with a kindness that felt both profound and effortless. His eyes held a depth of understanding, and his smile was warm, … Continue reading The Serene Gardener

“Bukowski”He quoted Bukowski knowingly to a blonde girl who thought he was reciting lyrics from a love song. It irked me—if not outright pissed me off—to hear him speak with such honesty and belief in every word, only for her to receive it so vacuously. I gazed at the back of the couple seated two rows ahead of me on the bus. I saw the bearer of the honey-rum voice. I watched him pinch the girl’s nose playfully and recite more lyrical “love spells” from great writers. She just stared blankly and laughed at his attempts to impress. Yet from … Continue reading Year: 1987

Flesh of your flesh—let it be a sacrament.I shall take you whole, to devour in place of your spirit,which I so long to reach.Let it be your lips that quiver,in syncopation with your heart.Let your heart pulse with the longing of your soul. Let us be full—and empty—with the fast of our bodies upon our lips.We shall be a cycle of desire and satiation.And when we have been torn to pieces,we will, at last, be free to be whole. ❤️ Continue reading Whole