Tag: art

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Memoire Oubliée

beatrizesmer

Tes yeux sont si profonds que j’y perds la mémoire. Your eyes—their irises like twin galaxies—hold secrets older than constellations. They are wellsprings of forgotten tales, where the past and present entwine, and the future hesitates, unsure of its own script. I imagine tracing the contours of your gaze—the delicate arch of your brow, the crescent moons etched beneath your lashes. Each blink, a shutter capturing fragments of existence: stolen kisses, whispered promises, the scent of rain on cobblestone streets. And within those depths, memory unravels like a vintage tapestry. Perhaps it was a moonlit soirée, where laughter swirled like … Continue reading Memoire Oubliée

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I Declare My Fragilities and My Fears

beatrizesmer

I declare my fragilities and my fears. They are the delicate threads that weave the fabric of my soul—the warp and weft of vulnerability. I am weak, yes, and small—a mere mote of stardust adrift in the cosmic expanse. But within this fragility lies a quiet strength, a resilience born of surrender. Let Me Walk in Beauty Let me walk in beauty, for beauty is the language of the divine. The red and purple sunsets—their hues bleeding across the canvas of the sky—are my hymns. I drink them in, these fleeting moments of grace, and they nourish me. They remind … Continue reading I Declare My Fragilities and My Fears

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The Lost White Box

beatrizesmer

In the quiet solitude of the night, I stumbled upon a discovery, hidden in the recesses of my closet. A lost white box, unassuming in its appearance, yet brimming with fragments of my existence. It was as if I had unearthed a time capsule, a treasure trove of moments frozen in time. The box cradled clippings of me, snippets of my past, each one a thread woven into the tapestry of my life. They were echoes of laughter, whispers of tears, and silent screams, all encapsulated within this humble container. A knot in the stomach, a visceral reminder of the … Continue reading The Lost White Box

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The Many Faces of Being

beatrizesmer

Between heartbeats, I exist. Not as a fixed entity, but as a chameleon of existence. I am always as you see me—fluid, mutable, and unyielding. I can be something or everything. When dawn tiptoes across the sky, I am the dew-kissed petal, fragile and hopeful. Yet, when the moon hangs heavy, I become the vastness of the cosmos, stitching constellations into stories. I can be the sun shining or the thunder roaring. In the golden hours, I am the sun’s warm embrace, casting shadows that dance upon the earth. But when tempests gather, I transform into the electric fury of … Continue reading The Many Faces of Being

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The Language of Feeling

beatrizesmer

In the mess of my heart, where words often fail to reach, I find a language unspoken, a dialect of emotions, raw and pure. It is not bound by the shackles of syntax, nor does it dance to the tunes of grammar. It is a language of feeling, of understanding, of empathy. “I am not a scholar of words,” I confess, “I am not that smart.” Yet, in my simplicity, I possess a wisdom that eludes many. I navigate the world not by the compass of intellect, but by the beacon of emotion. I read not the words that dance … Continue reading The Language of Feeling

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The Transformative Return of Love

beatrizesmer

In the quiet solace of passing days, love took its leave, a silent thief in the night, departing without a trace. It wandered through the wilderness of the unknown, through the thicket of uncharted hearts, and in its journey, it shed its old skin. When love returned, it was not as it once was. It looked upon me with new eyes, eyes that had seen the dawn of distant horizons and the dusk of forgotten lands. Its hands, once familiar, were now those of a stranger, reshaped by the embrace of novel experiences and tender moments that I had not … Continue reading The Transformative Return of Love

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 The Alchemy of Fear

beatrizesmer

Yes, I have stumbled, faltered, and found myself face down in the dirt. My failures are many, and my fears, like shadows, stretch long in the evening sun. Yet, within the scattered debris of my attempts, there lies a testament to my unwavering resolve. My journey, though marred by sputters and dust, is a mosaic of a soul yearning for transformation, a heart beating with the rhythm of hope for a healthier tomorrow. Fear, that cunning alchemist, turns today’s dread into tomorrow’s drive. It whispers of the embers that smolder within the hearth of my spirit, a silent siren calling … Continue reading  The Alchemy of Fear

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Poetry

beatrizesmer

I stand amidst the whispers of an unknown origin, a genesis shrouded in the cloak of winter or the meandering paths of a river. I am the seeker of voices that are not heard, words that are not spoken, and silences that are not quiet. It is not in the clarity of speech that I am called, but from the cobblestone alleys of dreams, from the intertwining limbs of night’s darkest trees. In the tumult of blazing embers or in the solemnity of my solitary journey, I find myself faceless, a phantom to the world, yet profoundly touched. This touch—it … Continue reading Poetry

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The Arrival of Poetry

beatrizesmer

And it was at that age, an unmarked chapter in the book of life, when poetry arrived. It came unannounced, a silent whisperer seeking me out, a wanderer from realms unknown. Was it birthed from the cold embrace of winter, or did it emerge from the murmuring depths of a river? Its origins were a mystery, cloaked in the enigma of the elements. I cannot recount how or when it found me, for it was neither a voice that called out nor a word inscribed upon the air. It was not the hush of silence that precedes the storm. Rather, … Continue reading The Arrival of Poetry

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La Noche Y El Viento

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En la quietud de la noche, cuando el viento susurra entre las sombras, el eco de mi corazón se funde con la melodía de la naturaleza. He desaprendido el tacto de otro ser, pero el recuerdo de sus caricias perdura en mi piel, como un suave susurro en la brisa. En la profundidad de mi ser, late la esencia ancestral que me conecta con el universo, con el eco de antiguas leyendas que resuenan en mi ser. Soy el viento que acaricia los árboles con la misma suavidad con la que él solía acariciar mi rostro. Soy el lobo que … Continue reading La Noche Y El Viento