Tag: poetry

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The Hidden Truths Within Silence

beatrizesmer

In the quiet corridors of our innermost selves, we often tread softly, afraid to awaken the truths that slumber in silence. These truths, veiled in the shadows of unspoken thoughts, are the purest essence of our being, yet they remain concealed behind a tapestry of reticence. We choose not to voice them, not to acknowledge their reflection in the mirror, for fear that their revelation might shatter the image we’ve so carefully constructed. Pride, that cunning architect, builds fortresses around our vulnerabilities, convincing us that to ignore a problem is to erase it from existence. But like a persistent whisper … Continue reading The Hidden Truths Within Silence

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Pardonne-moi, mon amour…

beatrizesmer

I wish I could weave your sadness, delicately, like a silken thread, unraveling the knots that cling to the corners of your heart. Each tear would be a pearl, strung together in a necklace of empathy, a testament to the weight you carry. I wish I could listen, truly listen, as you speak of your pain. Your words would be like notes of a melancholy melody, each syllable a brushstroke on the canvas of my understanding. And in the telling, your burden would lighten, the edges of your suffering softened by the mere act of sharing. I wish I could … Continue reading Pardonne-moi, mon amour…

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Each Individual As A Unique And Irreplaceable Masterpiece

beatrizesmer

In the quiet of dawn, I stirred from slumber, a whisper of vitality coursing through my veins—a familiar drive, an echo from a past I had once danced with, then let slip away into the recesses of memory. It was as if the very essence of my being had been rekindled by a flame that had never truly extinguished, merely dimmed beneath the ashes of routine and time. This strong desire was enigmatic, a riddle wrapped in the enigma of my own soul, its origins as elusive as the source of a river that has traveled far from its mountain … Continue reading Each Individual As A Unique And Irreplaceable Masterpiece

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Your Eyes

beatrizesmer

In the vast canvas of the cosmos, where celestial bodies dance in the silent music of the universe, I embarked on a journey transcending time and space. Across the night, through constellations that tell ancient tales, I voyaged past a million stars. Their brilliant fires, a myriad of suns, each a beacon on my odyssey. And moons, those silent guardians of planets, witnessed my passage. They hung in the sky, silver medallions adorning the black velvet of infinity. Each crater, a story; each phase, a chapter in the chronicle of my quest. They smiled upon me, their light a gentle … Continue reading Your Eyes

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My Melanin

beatrizesmer

In the tapestry of humanity, each thread has a unique hue, contributing to the grand design. However, certain threads are unjustly viewed with suspicion, their richness mistaken for shadow. My melanin—a rich, earthy tone—is seen not as a pigment but as a proclamation, a defiant statement against a society that has long equated darkness with danger. But how dare I? How dare I stand tall in this skin, a proud testament to my heritage? How dare I demand the respect freely given to others, as if my worth were equal? I am a black woman, navigating a world where my … Continue reading My Melanin

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To Little Eyes of the Forest

beatrizesmer

In the heart of verdant whispers, where the great rivers flow, Dwells the soul of the forest, in the children’s eyes, it glows. With feet bare upon the earth, their laughter rings in tune, To the parrot’s vibrant chorus, ‘neath the watchful Amazon moon. Tiny hands, like leaves, reach out, to the sky so vast and blue, Grasping dreams of peace and harmony, in the morning’s dew. They dance with the spirits of the trees, in a silent, sacred ballet, Wearing crowns of orchids wild, in the break of day. Beaded bracelets jingle softly, anklets sing of ancient lore, Each … Continue reading To Little Eyes of the Forest

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On Indigenous Peoples Day,

beatrizesmer

Let us weave a flag of colors, a symphony of stories, and honor the threads that bind us to ancient lands. You, my miscegenated soul, bear the hues of a thousand sunsets—neither black nor white, but a kaleidoscope of ancestry. In your veins flows the Karipuna river, its waters whispering secrets of resilience. The Rio Jamary Karipunas, nearly lost to time, dance in your blood—their footsteps etched in the Guaporé drylands, a sacred map of survival. Your lineage, a mosaic of nations, defies borders. Portuguese winds from Ceará State kiss your cheeks, while Dutch echoes from Sergipe State linger in … Continue reading On Indigenous Peoples Day,

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Mirror

beatrizesmer

I have been both the weaver and the thread, spun through the loom of chaos and cosmos. I have tasted the gods, their ambrosia bitter on my tongue, and danced wild and unhinged, a dervish whirling in the ecstasy of oblivion. I have doused myself in liquor, the elixir of forgetfulness, and ran naked down the street, shedding the shroud of conformity with every liberated step. I have known the thrill of theft, the adrenaline of being stolen from, the shattering and the being shattered. In the crucible of experience, I have witnessed the birth and death of the universe … Continue reading Mirror

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Love, my dear, is the truest magic …

beatrizesmer

In the labyrinth of childhood, where innocence and wisdom intertwine, we are handed a series of enigmatic scrolls—the teachings of elders, the echoes of tradition. First, they whisper to us in hushed tones: “Be good, little one, and the world will bestow upon you gifts aplenty.” And so, we tiptoe along the tightrope of virtue, balancing our deeds like fragile porcelain, hoping that our goodness will yield a harvest of treasures. But then, the winds shift, and the scrolls unfurl further. The elders, their eyes alight with fervor, reveal another truth: “Beware, for there lies a fiery abyss where sinners writhe in eternal … Continue reading Love, my dear, is the truest magic …

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Saudade

beatrizesmer

In the quiet recesses of the heart, where emotions swell and recede like the tides, there lies a space so constricted, so intimate, that it grips the soul with an intensity that is almost tangible. Here, inside, so tight, a lump form in the throat, a silent sentinel of the words unspoken, the feelings unexpressed. The heart, a vessel of thought, beats to the rhythm of unuttered dreams, pulsing with the cadence of silent musings. It is the crucible where the alchemy of emotion transmutes the mundane into the sublime, where the ordinary is imbued with the extraordinary. From the … Continue reading Saudade