Cherished Daydreaming

Sitting by the road’s edge, I watch life go by.

I see men, women, children, old and young people.

They carry on their faces their realities and beyond,

I foresee, have almost a glimpse, surely imagine,

what really lead them to move on but cannot be seen:

– their well-kept secrets, desires, aspirations.

Personal, insurmountable, what sets them apart,

which is their high esteem, their own motto, their ego.

Sometimes seeing from very high, I see even myself,

mixed in the crowd, perhaps a little lost,

but firmly believing to be on the walk too.

I feel the collective hope that we will arrive,

each in its own time, to the promised land,

that Canaan where milk and honey spill

and evil never finds shelter.

 

This poem and all others at this blog, authored by Edilson Afonso Ferreira ©

Advertisements

Love Reminiscences

I have neither the time nor the talent to sing praises

to all that have enchanted me in my life on earth.

Someday, I will miss these happy and satiated eyes,

my ears, even my heart.

We, who now share this land and these airs,

will be no more than sparing remembrance

for those who will remain.

In the short time given to me, I want to suck in fury

all the honey that I can get by on my lips, living the life

just like that poet of sweet memory, burning my candle

on both sides, my light frightening and pushing away

all scarecrows on duty.

Maybe in another life, unknown to me,

they give me other days,

who knows, even Eternity.

But they never will give me, however,

those scarlet red sunsets preceding soft nights,

where I have met lovely and unforgettable women,

sisters whom our race has refined in such a beauty

never seen anywhere or anytime else.

Our Tour on Earth

I do not want to wait one minute more to say

to this world some words stuck in my throat:

I love all of you!

Whites, yellows, browns, blacks,

elderly, young, children,

even the evil ones, because they must have

some strange and hidden missions,

perhaps hidden even for themselves.

The truth is that sometimes we find ourselves playing

a musical from Broadway, other times,

horrible some Greek tragedy.

As mentor and director of our tour on earth,

God uses all the talents of His creatures,

like a painter mixing colors to create a masterpiece.

We must accept the tones God has given to each one,

for this is the redemption of a destiny allocated to us,

I suppose, even believe, since the beginning of times.

Origins

I walk in the streets, alleys and squares,

I see and hear all kind of people,

I still feel even a little of their souls.

Whites, blacks and yellows,

adults, children and the elderly,

they are my fellow ones, comrades

on the biggest walk, in route

to the admirable new world,

the land promised long time ago.

Instead of, perhaps, should I go

back to the sixth day of one holy week,

to ask our Creator if this is the way

He had thought for His people.

Also ask if it would not be a time of forgiveness,

disarming some cherubim’s flaming swords,

still on guard at the Paradise Gate.

Treasured a Past

No one, other than myself, needs or should know about my past.

It is sacred a shrine, not open to public visitation in any way.

I am sure some guardian angels have been in duty,

around me, since my birth, even since I was conceived.

I believe, more so, they had approached and induced

a couple of young lovers, to the holy mission to add

to our world a new soul, a new being.

All this with the complicity and blessings of God,

lord and mentor of all destinations.

Every time I fell and got up,

was wrong, then corrected and forgiven,

my tears wiped and the hope renewed,

has strengthened and put me on the right track

to the land once promised to our ancestors,

that where milk and honey flow and evil

never finds shelter.

That one, I surely believe,

not far beyond the horizon

of  upcoming so happy a day.

 

This poem and all others at this blog, authored by Edilson Afonso Ferreira ©

 

Cherished Belief

Someday, somewhere,

I will get you only for me,

just for me, apart, separate,

from the entire world.

Then, I will kiss your red lips

with all holiness, born through

sacred, chaste and sinless a love.

Witnessed and blessed  by the creator,

so, there will exist no time or clock,

day or night, reason or laws.

It will be the fulfillment of a story,

kept secret and secluded, although,

we both know,

written and settled since always,

by solemn and unique a destiny.

Sad Surprise

I did not know,

neither did my wife,

that our marriage had become a rarity.

We meet every five years with former colleagues,

celebrating the anniversary of our graduation,

party that has become traditional.

By the latter, celebrating twenty years, we were troubled,

even frightened, being greeted with such comments:

It is true that you are still married!

Have you not yet separated yourselves?

Something wrong must be happening!

They gave us weird looks,

some of them even suggested a psychologist.

Undesirable and unimaginable a reality,

which we are not prepared for.

My spouse and I agree never more attend these events.

O tempora! O mores! –  said Cicero.

What time, what customs! –  do we say!