(Softly, almost to oneself) There is a day… a day unlike any other.When the sun scorches without remorse, and the sky forgets how to weep.When hunger isn’t just in the belly—it’s in the bones, in the breath.And thirst? Thirst becomes a kind of prayer.That’s the day of stones and oil. (Pauses, picks up a stone, studies it) I remember walking—no, stumbling—through a field that had long since given up.My lips were cracked like old clay pots, my eyes… they’d stopped searching for green.And then I saw it.A stone.Not gold, not bread—just a stone.I picked it up, placed it in my … Continue reading Monologue: The Day of Stones and Oil

By Beatriz Esmer (adapted from her poem) (A dim light. The speaker stands still, barefoot, as if just waking. They speak slowly, as if remembering something they wish they could forget.) A shame I woke up human again this morning.Dry-mouthed.Sullen.Reading—reading what we’ve done.What we keep doing.To each other.To our own. By nature, they say.By nature. (Pause. A bitter laugh.) I wish I were a glasswing butterfly.Invisible.Fragile.Hidden in the world. But no.I’ve got mosquito bites.Ankles. Arms.One prickling my hand like a secret I can’t scratch away. Too bad I’m stuck in this body.Too bad I’m numb.Too bad—Good thing I’m alive, I … Continue reading Monologue: “Glasswing”

I keep pretending to know, as if certainty were a shield I could carry through the world. But beneath the surface, I do not really know anything. Not in the way I once believed knowing should feel—solid, sharp-edged, unshakable. There is, however, a knowing within. A quiet pulse beneath the noise. It flickers like a candle in the wind—present, but elusive. Each time I try to name it, to wrap it in the language of conditions and expectations, it slips away. The more I assign meaning, the more I demand clarity, the further it drifts. So perhaps, just for a … Continue reading 🌿 The Grace of Not Knowing

Et ainsi, je me suis abandonnée au déluge — les souvenirs déferlant comme des gouttes de pluie sur une terre assoiffée. Chaque réminiscence portait une saveur distincte : les rires des amis d’enfance, le parfum du jasmin en fleurs, le toucher d’une main aimée. Ils s’accumulaient dans les creux de mon cœur, comblant les fissures laissées par le temps et la distance. La tempête en moi faisait rage, mais ce n’était pas un ouragan de désespoir ; c’était plutôt une purification, un baptême de mémoire. J’ai fermé les yeux, laissant les souvenirs m’envahir, consciente qu’ils étaient à la fois mon … Continue reading Déluge

I stand like a lonely house, weathered by time and memory. My timeworn walls echo with the whispers of your absence, each creak a yearning for your return. The windows, once vibrant portals to the world, now ache with anticipation, yearning for the moment when you will see me again and breathe life into these forgotten chambers. Until then, I remain, a sentinel of longing, waiting for the day when your footsteps grace my threshold once more. The seasons pass, and still, I wait. The sun traces its golden arc across the sky, casting shadows upon my worn floors. The … Continue reading Yearning House

Since I was little, my mother held my hand, guiding me through life’s labyrinth. She taught me what love is—the quiet warmth of her embrace, the lullabies whispered in twilight. Love, she said, is the sun peeking through storm clouds, painting rainbows across our hearts.But she didn’t stop there. She showed me the other side—the ugliness of war. Her eyes, once soft, hardened as she recounted tales of battles fought, lives lost. War, she said, is the tearing of souls, the shattering of dreams, the echo of distant cannons in sleepless nights.Yet, even in darkness, she found beauty. “Look,” she’d … Continue reading Lessons from a Mother’s Heart

Come gently, like sunlight through leaves—with warmth that lingers,with winds that whisper of change.May your days be stitched with courage,your nights with rest,and your heart with the quiet knowingthat growth often blooms in stillness.Welcome the unknown.You are ready. 🙏🏾❤️ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Hello, July!

Between heartbeats, I exist—not as a fixed entity, but as a chameleon of being. I am the dew-kissed petal at dawn and the vast cosmos at night, the sun’s warm embrace and the thunder’s electric fury. I shift between solitude and the crowd, between the gentle breeze of spring and winter’s biting chill. In every form, I remain fluid, mutable, and unyielding. I am the keeper of memories and the wind beneath dreams. In quiet moments, I am the clasped hands and whispered promises; in defiance of odds, I weave bridges from stardust, connecting love and loss, hope and despair. … Continue reading Ancestry

Disseram-me os espíritos que me cuidasse. Uma preta velha, num terreiro, anos atrás.A luz que atravessou a janela do quarto, hoje pela manhã, trouxe de volta a preocupação.Cuidar-me — como?Poderia adoecer, perder-me no caminho, perder o amor da minha vida que nunca tive, ser despejada. A lista seria infindável, caso me pusesse a escrevê-la.O que gostariam que eu soubesse?Não creio que receberia uma notícia fatalista, sem chances de alterar minha rota de colisão com o que quer que fosse.De nada serviriam as previsões e os profetas, senão para angustiar-nos diante do inevitável. Deus seria um sádico a adiantar-nos capítulos inescapáveis.Ou … Continue reading Presságios

It’s often said that between two kindred souls, one can hear the music played by the other.But I would take it a step further—We are beings of energy, each vibrating with our own unique frequency.When two energies resonate, they don’t just hear each other’s song—they amplify it.In that harmony, the best within each is awakened,Illuminated and elevated,Creating a frequency not only heard,But felt—deeply, instinctively,As if the universe itself is humming in agreement. 🙏🏾❤ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading It is often