Tag: poet

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My words …

beatrizesmer

In the fabric of life, every thread tells a tale, intertwined with the hues of our encounters. As I sit here, pen in hand, the world outside fades to a whisper, and the dance of words across the page becomes my sole reality. These words are more than mere symbols; they are the embodiment of my laughter and tears, the silent witnesses to the symphony of my inner world. They are the confidants of my secrets, the carriers of my joys, and the solace for my sorrows. With each stroke of the pen, I paint a portrait of my soul, … Continue reading My words …

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When You Miss Me

beatrizesmer

If you miss me, let it not be in the quiet of solitude or the depths of despair. No, not then. For in those moments, my absence should not weigh upon your heart like an anchor. Instead, let it be when the sun dances upon your skin, when laughter echoes through your veins, and when life unfurls its vibrant tapestry before you. Let it be when you have everything—the world at your fingertips, dreams within reach, and joy bubbling up like a hidden spring. And yet, despite it all, a whisper of longing tugs at your soul. When the moon … Continue reading When You Miss Me

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The Inaccuracy of Us

beatrizesmer

There are no ready-made scripts, only characters and improvised dialogues of our ups and downs. A love that blooms unexpectedly, or one that teeters on the edge of ceasing. No necessary paths, just those that serve us and those that do not. No right door, only those that swing open and those that remain stubbornly shut. Sometimes, the best choice is not to choose at all. The most profound answer may be silence—a quiet surrender to the vastness of existence. And the cure that heals us, paradoxically, lies in feeling hurt. To live fully, we must embrace the possibility of … Continue reading The Inaccuracy of Us

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Museum of Tragedies

beatrizesmer

In the quiet chambers of flesh, where veins weave stories, women harbor more than mere existence. They are not vessels for sorrow, but rather, repositories of resilience. Each curve, each scar, whispers a saga—a delicate tapestry woven from threads of joy and pain. The body, a museum of tragedies, houses memories etched in skin, eternally inscribed. The weight they bear is not a burden, but an ocean—an expanse of saltwater and secrets. They navigate its depths, tides rising and falling, yet never succumb to drowning. For within them resides the alchemy of survival—the art of transforming grief into strength. They … Continue reading Museum of Tragedies

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Stitching Time

beatrizesmer

I am a poor tailor of time. My fingers fumble with the delicate fabric of moments, trying to weave coherence from chaos. But the measurements elude me, slipping through my grasp like sand. The cloth always falls short, leaving frayed edges and unfinished seams. Pockets of hours, those tiny sanctuaries, mock me. They are too small, insufficient for the grand designs I envision. I stitch them together, patchwork-style, hoping to create a quilt of purpose. Yet, the threads tangle, forming knots of uncertainty. My routine becomes a labyrinth, a maze of missed stitches and dropped needles. And in this weaving, … Continue reading Stitching Time

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“The Noble Foot and the Veil of Beauty”

beatrizesmer

In the quiet chambers of existence, where whispers of truth echo through the corridors of perception, there resides a question—an inquiry that pierces the veil of convention and dances upon the edge of revelation. What spirit, pray tell, is so empty and blind that it cannot recognize the silent wisdom woven into the fabric of our being? For behold, the foot—the humble traveler of dust and dew—is more noble than the shoe that cradles it. It bears the weight of countless journeys, imprinting the earth with tales of pilgrimage and wanderlust. The shoe, a mere vessel, bows in reverence to … Continue reading “The Noble Foot and the Veil of Beauty”

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A Grand Ocean

beatrizesmer

In the hallowed halls of our being, we are but mariners adrift in the vastness of ourselves. This body, a grand ocean, cradles the mysteries of the deep—hidden reefs and sunken vaults, where treasures beyond measure lie in wait. Dare to dive beneath the surface, where the light of understanding flickers in the dark, waiting for the spark of curiosity to ignite its flame. In the secret chambers of the soul, kindle your inner lantern, let it guide you through the labyrinthine gardens of the self. Here, in the verdant groves within, rare orchards bloom with wisdom’s fruit, and peacocks … Continue reading A Grand Ocean

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Landing

beatrizesmer

Your presence, a gentle landing that stretches days into endless horizons, brightens the mundane into a kaleidoscope of joy. I find delight in every hue, hear sacred whispers in the zephyr’s breath. To love you is to become an alchemist of beauty, crafting splendor from the ordinary, learning the seasons of bloom from the words you speak. My heart embarks on a sacred journey, seeking your essence without the intent of return, for love is the ultimate offering, expecting no reciprocation. With eyes wide open, I witness your emergence amidst the foliage of time, and with skin yearning for warmth, … Continue reading Landing

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Sacred

beatrizesmer

The sacred is not confined to hallowed halls or holy texts; it is the quietude in a hammock’s sway on a lazy Sunday, the anticipation in an airport’s embrace. It is the stillness between life’s cacophony, a late-night tea, a duvet’s cozy retreat. Sacredness is the aroma of a meal, the earth’s perfume after rain, the silence of a fulfilled desire. It is the window that frames the dying day, the kiss that speaks without words, the surrender of entwined souls. In a room of cherished memories, the sacred finds its home, a gentle reprieve from the mundane. It coexists … Continue reading Sacred

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Sometimes love says goodbye

beatrizesmer

In the quiet hours of the night, love often takes flight, a specter slipping through the grasp of those who wish to clasp it tight. It is a wisp of smoke, a fleeting dream that dances just beyond the beam of our desperate lanterns. We reach out, fingers trembling, but it evades us, always just out of reach, leaving us with the echo of its whisper. Love, they say, is a wild thing. It fears the cage as much as the bird within fears the sky. It is the untamed wind that howls at the door, the river that overflows … Continue reading Sometimes love says goodbye