Shop for 𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗔𝗡𝗜𝗖 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗗𝗨𝗖𝗧𝗦 in our new 𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗨𝗔𝗟 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗘 🩸𝗙𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗣𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚 for orders over 30€ ▸

3 Poems by Amazing Women on Book’s Day

Yesterday was Sant Jordi in Catalonia and, as a very Barcelona brand that we are, we didn’t want to miss on the opportunity of going a bit literary on the Day of the Book. It is so great the talent that surrounds us and there are so many marvelous women authors, that we have decided to pick our 3 favourite poems written by interesting women.

It isn’t that we’re going off topic, remember they also have their period. And while we read their work we wonder… how does the menstrual cycle affect their creative process? Do they write just the same or maybe a little different when they’re on their period? Anyways, these and other questions we might get to ask them eventually, but for today we’ll just get comfy and enjoy their creations.

Marina Oroza, AURA

In reality that corner
Is a quagmire of reincarnations
Converted into mourning shrouds.

In reality the shape of things
Is a palpable aura,
A soul, a hollow eclipse,
A waterfall of frozen horizon
With nothing to hide.

In reality, the skin of the morning
Is the same as the night’s,
Physically emptied island.

We are air fossil
And we  are there, that’s all,
Like the shape of things,
Like noblemen without their slaves
And then we invent symbols
That are vessels so we can
Finally name what does not exist.

Raquel Llanseros, INVOCATION

May that apparent calm called scepticism
never riddle my heart.

Let me escape
from the numbness of cynicism
from the impartiality of shrugged shoulders.

Let me believe always in life
let me believe always in infinite possibilities.

Deceive me, song of the sirens
confer a gleam of naivety!

Epidermis, never resemble
a frozen implacable hide.

Let me always cry
for impossible dreams
for forbidden loves
for girlish fantasies torn into pieces.

Let me escape from straight-jacketed realism.

Safeguard these songs on my lips,
may they be numerous, noisy and replete with chords.

To sing away the threat of silent times.


Conchi Da Silva, THE GODDESS

I am a goddess,
a rag to clean the floor,
a girl leaning out of the window waiting for a miracle,
for a new day.

I am a goddess,
someone confused, falling apart,
that doesn’t find what she seeks,
hat doesn’t know to look,
that wastes time.
I am a goddess,
a goddess on a stained altar
useless, broken,
a goddess that nobody has revered,
that does not arouse faith,
or feelings,
a mortal goddess,
a rag to clean the floor.

Leave a comment