Tag: love

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No, you do not know the real dimension of despair. What a cliff is, darkness, annihilation …

beatrizesmer

Indeed, the real dimension of despair is often unknown to many. It is a precipice, a plunge into darkness, a complete annihilation of hope and joy. It is a vertigo-inducing fall into the abyss of the soul, despair within despair, a naked vulnerability devoid of any nuances. It is an impotence that is revealed and echoed in the murky mirror of meanings, a kidnapping of our very essence. We often use words in our daily lives that are far from trivial, treating them as if they were. These words, these everyday utterances, do not always correspond to our past experiences, … Continue reading No, you do not know the real dimension of despair. What a cliff is, darkness, annihilation …

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Why?

beatrizesmer

In the depths of my soul, I have witnessed the dance of darkness and light, the interplay of hope and despair. I have seen the face of humanity, etched with the lines of both cruelty and kindness. I have seen the monstrous acts that one human can inflict upon another, the injustices that make the soul shudder, and the heart weep. I have seen the children, innocent and pure, caught in the crossfire of adult wars, their laughter silenced, their smiles faded. I have seen their small bodies, once full of life and joy, now lifeless and cold. And I … Continue reading Why?

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Shinning People

beatrizesmer

There exist unsung heroes, the bearers of light in our darkest hours. They are the ones who stand tall when the world around us crumbles, their spirits unyielding, their resolve unbreakable. When the body is frail and the strength wanes, they are the pillars that hold us up, their compassion a soothing balm for our weary souls. When fortunes take a turn and wealth becomes a distant memory, they are the treasure we find in our poverty, their generosity richer than the most opulent of palaces. In the face of adversity, when structures of certainty collapse into the abyss of … Continue reading Shinning People

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Rumi

beatrizesmer

In the grand theater of existence, the length of our performance remains a mystery. Yet, as the great poet Rumi has beautifully articulated, it is not the duration of our lives that inspires, but the intensity with which we live them. Each breath we draw, each moment we experience, is a testament to our resilience, our determination to simply exist. We are warriors in the arena of life, armed with courage and fortified by the will to survive. We fight, not against an external adversary, but against the very fragility of our existence. Our battles may be silent, our victories … Continue reading Rumi

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Attraction

beatrizesmer

In the quiet reflection of the glass, we often seek truths untold, for in the mirror’s gaze lies a story, not of years, but of the soul. It whispers not of waistlines, nor the numbers that tip the scales, but of the grace with which we stand, amidst life’s winding trails. Attraction, they say, is skin deep, but true allure is the art of poise, it’s the unspoken kindness in a glance, the warmth in a voice. It’s the smile that greets the stranger, the laughter that fills the room, the passion that ignites like fire, dispelling shadows of gloom. … Continue reading Attraction

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Celebrating the beauty of dark skin

beatrizesmer

Skin so dark, oh geez! Screams a few ‘Hallelujah! Be proud of your skin color! In this tumultuous humanity, every shade is a brushstroke of genius, a testament to diversity’s splendor. Dark skin, a canvas rich and profound, holds the mysteries of the cosmos, the depth of the earth, and the resilience of history within its melanin-kissed hues. Oh, how it glistens under the sun’s adoring gaze, a spectrum of ebony, mahogany, and umber, each tone a verse in the poetry of pigmentation. It speaks of strength, of roots deeply entrenched, of a heritage unyielding and proud. Let the chorus … Continue reading Celebrating the beauty of dark skin

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The Wind

beatrizesmer

I am the cartographer of my own destiny, tracing paths not on ancient parchment, but across the vast canvas of the cosmos. I chase the frayed ends of sunshine, those elusive strands of light that lead me through the labyrinth of life. In my pocket, I carry not coins, but stars—luminous memories of those I’ve cherished and lost along the way. Each glimmering star a story, a whisper of love, a beacon of hope in the dark. Change is my constant companion, the currency with which I barter for new dawns and dusks. I am no mere traveler; I am … Continue reading The Wind

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My Nocturnal Reveries

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As dusk gives way to the night’s embrace, my thoughts unfurl into a grand amphitheater of introspection. The stage is set, the spotlight dims, and the performance of my psyche begins. Here, in this hallowed hall of reverie, the drapes of my mind’s eye remain ever wide, revealing a panorama of paths once trodden and words left unvoiced. A gale of remembrance encircles me, a tempest born from the whispers and shadows of yesteryear. It dances through the corridors of my being, a choreography of chaos, each step a memory, each turn a tale untold. The stillness of the night … Continue reading My Nocturnal Reveries

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My dear,

beatrizesmer

Who has whispered such untruths into your ear? Who dared to say your skin was anything less than beautiful? Look upon the earth, rich and teeming with life, and see yourself reflected in its depth. You are the color of the fertile ground from which all flowers spring forth. In the deep, rich soil, the seeds find their strength, and blossoms unfurl in a riot of color. Your skin is the canvas of continents, the shade of soil that cradles roots and nourishes beginnings. It is the hue of strength, the tint of resilience, the shade of endless possibilities. Like … Continue reading My dear,

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Walking in another’s shoes …

beatrizesmer

What must one do to thrive in a realm so different from their own? Is it enough to sit back, inhale deeply, and let the smoke carry away the coherent thoughts, leaving behind only the abstract musings of the night? Or is it to wander the desolate sands, where the only touch is that of a bullet’s kiss, or to endure the symphony of an infant’s cries that pierce the silence of the early hours? What fabric weaves the essence of you and me? If I step outside these walls that echo with the incessant call of ‘mom’, if I … Continue reading Walking in another’s shoes …