Poem: Here

I will be here, on this side of life, 

Where the sun is always shining, 

The moon endlessly glowing, 

And the unicorns are forever free. 

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Poem: The Heart of The Free

We break, we laugh and we keep going, 

It is the heart of the wanderer, 

The soul of the free, 

To search and to never stop trusting, 

The inner fire that keeps propelling, 

Ruthlessly and instinctively, as sure as the day. 

As steady as the halo of the moon, 

Long after we travel into ourselves, 

We find what we have been looking for, 

Was inside this shimmering spirit all along,

But still we keep on, becoming the

Queens and Kings we are meant to always be. 

Poem: In High Palaces

In High Palaces voices sing, 

Through invisible distances

Of lost times and broken stones, 

Listen! Listen to the lullabies. 

They are angels of others, 

Way down in the depths of the self, 

In vast alleys of the great unknown

Grown fast, deep and wide, 

Stretch out to the open sky. 

Let the roots sink and the wings fly. 

Become a flower that shines, 

A bird that is endlessly gliding, 

A spirit that forever loves. 

Go down darling, deep down. 

Listen to the songs that come. 

Be ready to sacrifice yourself, 

And what is yours will come to you

As it has always been. 

Let your own voice laugh in the shadows, 

Be ready to cry in your little heart, 

And what has been will become. 

Once again, as designed, as promised,
As it is meant to be. 

A poem: Ode to life by Martha Medeiros

ODE TO LIFE by Martha Medeiros

He who becomes the slave of habit,

who follows the same routes every day,

who never changes pace,

who does not risk and change the color of his clothes,

who does not speak and does not experience,

dies slowly.
He or she who shuns passion,

who prefers black on white,

dotting ones “it’s” rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer,

that turn a yawn into a smile,

that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings,

dies slowly.
He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy,

who is unhappy at work,

who does not risk certainty for uncertainty,

to thus follow a dream,

those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives,

die slowly.
He who does not travel, who does not read,

who does not listen to music,

who does not find grace in himself,

she who does not find grace in herself,

dies slowly.
He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem,

who does not allow himself to be helped,

who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops,

dies slowly.
He or she who abandon a project before starting it, who fail to ask questions on subjects he doesn’t know, he or she who don’t reply when they are asked something they do know,

die slowly.
Let’s try and avoid death in small doses,

reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing.
Only a burning patience will lead

to the attainment of a splendid happiness.