Isilda Nunes (Portugal)

Isilda Nunes (Portugal)

Isilda Nunes is a Portuguese award-winning writer and artist. Recently she won among other recognitions, the Intercontinental World Poetry Prize “Kairat Dusseinov Parman”, the World Prize “Cesar Vallejo 2020” for Literary Excellence, the “Grito de Mujer Lisbon 2021 Award”, the “Aguila de Oro” for Literary and Artistic Excellence, “Escudo del Plata, “Especial Lusofonia”, “Latinoamericano à la Difusion Educativa, Literária e Cultural 2021 Award” and “I Premi Lido Dell’Anima Mihai Eminescu 2022” She has poems translated into English, Spanish, Hindi, Serbian, Polish, Bengali and Mandarin and edited in India, Bangladesh, Poland, Serbia, Brazil, Peru, Croatia, Greece, Republic of Seychelles, United States, Turkey, New Zealand and China. She is co-author of about fifty national and international anthologies and solo books of poetry and prose, such as novels, short stories and manuals.

She has organized and participated in various national and foreign festivals and events.



Of you, nothing remains except the silence

perched in the farewell antechamber.

Inert, glacial, incisive

hovers in the penumbra

of sunset.


Anemic chalice spilled

on the yellowish towel,

of desuded repast.

The imminent almost, prophesied

in the evocative amnesia of us,

echoes insistent,


purging spectres

in the saline footsteps of the fatum.


What has become of us?

Where have we forgotten?

From me,

in alienation,

I know myself lost.

Of you,

I glimpse nothing

than silence.

Cold, cutting, implosive,

perched in the farewell antechamber.




Of us, only the pain remains,

which gnaws at my soul.

Where does the scent of jasmine hover?

Where does the announced spring live?

Today, the corpse of me

survives in the disarray of emotions.

Translucent dust

volutes in the dug cracks,

on the lacerated face

on the tortured body.

At the hands of pseudo-love,

the sacred feminine outraged.

The scourged flesh.

The inert soul, in the induced shortcut.

At the curve of the road,

the last train

appeals to detachment.

And you?

Coldly you crush the cigarette.


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