Tag: poetry

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Whispers of Abril

beatrizesmer

Happy Abril! Within the quiet walls of my hermitage, I find solace. Every wind that brushes against my window, every delicate flower that blooms in my garden, they all whisper poetry to my soul. Love, once a warm flame, has transformed into a bittersweet ache. Another love, lost to the relentless march of time, lingers like a fading melody. No one else resides here—only the echoes of memories and the shadows of what was. The walls of my mind, sturdy and unyielding, insist that happiness lies within these familiar confines. They tell me love is not essential for survival, that … Continue reading Whispers of Abril

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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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In the Garden of Words

beatrizesmer

Poetry is never born at the mere movement of a pen. It is not ink spilled carelessly, but rather a quiet awakening. It emerges when the heart, once turbulent, finds stillness—a tranquil harbor where words can take root. Only when the soul rests deeply, like a weary traveler finding solace beneath ancient trees, do the seeds of verse begin to sprout. They push through the fertile soil of our emotions, seeking light, air, and the tender touch of inspiration. Beauty, my dear friend, is woven into the fabric of existence. It dances in the dew-kissed petals of morning flowers, whispers … Continue reading In the Garden of Words

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Beauty’s Touch

beatrizesmer

In the tender years of my youth, beauty’s touch caused my heart to ascend, akin to the noble eagles’ flight above the regal peaks. Vitality coursed through my veins, and I embraced liberty, discovering a fervor for the boundless wild. Amidst the daffodils’ dance, I spread my arms, wings in spirit, and soared across the mind’s vast landscapes—over craggy mountains, rolling dales, and the endless shores. With mangos in grasp, amidst leaves of myriad forms, I hearkened to the avian songs that wafted through the vernal zephyrs. For timeless hours, I’d repose in the verdant blades, gazing skyward at the … Continue reading Beauty’s Touch

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The Elders Wisdom

beatrizesmer

In the hallowed halls of ancient wisdom, the Elders speak of a profound truth: to speak is to weave the fabric of reality. With every word uttered, we send forth ripples of vibrational energy, resonating with the very frequency of life itself. Our voices are the conductors of this symphony, our heartbeats the metronome keeping time with the universe’s ceaseless rhythm. Sound, that ethereal sculptor, molds our existence, shaping our thoughts and dreams into tangible form. It is the healer, whose soothing tones can mend the fragmented soul; the motivator, whose rallying cry can ignite the flames of passion; the … Continue reading The Elders Wisdom

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The Beauty of Feeling Too Much

beatrizesmer

In the quietude of my being, there lies a tumultuous sea—waves of emotions crashing within, a tempest of thoughts that refuse to be tamed. Perhaps I feel with an intensity that scorches the soul, a fervor that oscillates between the zenith of joy and the nadir of sorrow. I am the artist moved to tears by the silent symphony of a world unseen, the rebel whose heart bleeds at the sight of injustice, the dreamer who finds ecstasy in the golden dance of sunlight upon verdant leaves. To be overwhelmed, to be lost, to be utterly consumed by the sheer … Continue reading The Beauty of Feeling Too Much

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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