Mãe. A palavra que ecoa pela casa em diferentes tons e urgências. Às vezes, é um chamado doce, quase preguiçoso: — Mãe, tô com fome!Outras vezes, vem carregado de angústia: — Mãe, estou com medo! E lá está ela, sempre pronta. Com um prato na mão ou um abraço no peito. Porque mãe não é só quem alimenta o corpo, mas também quem sacia a alma. O tempo passa, os filhos crescem, mas o chamado nunca desaparece. Ele muda de forma, se disfarça em mensagens rápidas ou olhares silenciosos. Mas mãe entende. Mãe sempre entende. E mesmo quando os filhos … Continue reading Mãe, tô com fome! Mãe, estou com medo…

… et dans la logique de la séduction, elle a paré son corps de rencontre et sa peau comme langage. La langue comme invitation. Elle a pris du vin et du désir ; le gémissement, la voix de l’âme ; dans le sexe, son dialogue. Le drap était un repos dans la nuit qui s’est éveillée en silence. Amant, marchand de promesses ; il a emporté avec lui tous ses amours. Elle a dénudé son corps, mais ne s’est pas révélée entièrement. Des yeux qui aiment parce qu’ils sont fermés ; des rendez-vous fixés parce qu’ils sont en manque. Son … Continue reading Logigue

… you’ll learn that you can’t fill the vacancies in your soul with people alone. You can occupy your cold bed with your lover’s warm body and the spaces between your fingers with their hands, but loneliness can’t be cured that way—not with something physical, anyway. No matter how many crowds of people you cram into the windows and doors, an abandoned house is still an abandoned house if the tenant never returns. And sometimes, just sometimes, the only person who can save you is yourself. There will be days when you stumble out of bed, wondering how it’s possible … Continue reading One day…

Tears have accompanied me through every stage of life, marking moments of separation, growth, and self-discovery. As a child, I cried on my first day of school, feeling the sting of detachment from those I loved. In adolescence, my tears fell for the first heartbreak, the first disappointment, and even the first blemish on my face. Over time, I learned to cry more deeply, more meaningfully, as life unfolded its complexities before me. I have cried for hatred, disillusionment, disappointment, despair, pain, fear, and longing. Just as I have laughed in moments of enchantment and happiness, my tears have reflected … Continue reading Tears …

Tell me love,What country do you belong to when you are in love? The words are impatient when you do not listen to them, the poetry gets sad in your absenceThe silence is incomplete when you’re not here When do you come back?I will kiss you for ten secondsAnd I will be happy forever…❤️ Continue reading Tell me …

In the whispers of the dust, I hear the echoes of my ancestors, a soft murmur that speaks of the village that cradled their dreams. It is within this fine silt that I find the fragments of my being, piecing together the mosaic of my soul. The hues of the earth paint me as a wandering tree, my roots submerged in the memories of a time when water was the cradle of life. With each gust of wind, I am scattered to the corners of the earth, a spectral dance of particles lost in the vastness of the sky. Yet, … Continue reading Dust and Ancestral Echoes

I want to write about the language of touch, the silent conversations held in the clasp of hands, the secrets whispered through fingertips. I want to write about the way a mother’s hand can soothe a child, the way a lover’s touch can ignite a spark, the way a friend’s comforting pat can ease a burden. I want to write about the domestic dance of marriage, the rhythm of routine, the melody of shared moments. I want to explore the growing void that can creep into the most intimate of spaces, the separate beds in a shared room, the unspoken … Continue reading The Imprints of Human Connection

I am changing, a perpetual metamorphosis. Like a leaf caught in the whims of time, I twirl through the seasons. Each turn brings a new hue, a fresh face to the world. In spring, I unfurl like a tender bud, reaching for the sun. My veins pulse with life, and I wear the green cloak of hope. The air smells of possibility, and I sway with the breeze, eager to embrace the warmth. Summer arrives, and I bask in the golden glory. My edges crisp, kissed by the sun’s fiery lips. I am vibrant, alive, and my laughter rustles through … Continue reading The Dance of Seasons

Je ne veux pas être humain.Je veux être qui je suis.Ils disent que je suis un lion, que je les poursuivrai.Je ne nie pas qu’il y a des lions en moi. Je suis le monstre dans la forêt,j’ai des merveilles dans ma maison de sucre.Je porte en moi des parties que je ne comprends pas encore.Je ne suis pas un Bon Robot. Raconter l’histoire d’un robot qui veut être humainest une distraction de ce qui importe.Il n’y a pas de différence. Vivant est vivant.Il n’y a qu’un seul verbe qui compte :Être. 🙏🏾❤️ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Lion

Œil pour œil, balle pour balleDent pour dent. Vers clandestins de contrebandiersAu lieu d’amants, rafalesAgitées la nuit, sans abri, froidDésabusé de toute innocenceEntre les voitures suppliantesAu feu rougeAvec un œil transpercé comme le poètePieds nus sur le sable incandescent. Là où il y a de la violenceLà où l’argument échoueLà où il n’y a plus d’espoir. Là où il y a un couvre-feuIl y a un cri… 😞 ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Œil pour œil …