MANIFESTO 

And suddenly… I write.

  There, time catches me in its embrace,

      stories taste like refuge, and I dance, sing,

     and weep without fear of being seen,

     without fear of being heard. 

I write so that the passage of time finds me,           at last, thinking;  

 to evict the voices that have nested in my     head and transmute the din into ink.

So that the ghosts may abandon me

     while I, among verses, reclaim myself. 

I write not to yield before the blind abyss

   nor to inhabit the muteness of shipwrecks.

  To not lose my way,

  to ignite upon paper those fires

  that the world insists on extinguishing.

I write to know that I am alive

—sometimes halfway, but always ALIVE—.

I write because it became a habit,

   because words, frantic and wild,

   strike the walls of my skull to be seen.

I write to be. I write, simply, to feel that I can   fly.

And suddenly… I write and the wound   becomes a bridge,

 the noise becomes music,

and everything becomes soul.

Everything becomes calm.

        I write.

             I write.               

                I write. 

(So that the spell may take effect).

Manifesto by Maria Elizabeth Freire