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!

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Unbreakable a Faith

The emotion that lies at the heart,

not shown in gestures and words,

cannot be measured or felt,

but for myself.

The tears of sadness and despair,

even those of rejoicing and pleasure,

salty and hot ones,

have leavened the soil where I live,

bringing forth flowers, fruits, children.

Have nourished and ennobled my spirit,

paying the toll I owe to the lord of the fief.

I am sure they are leading me to Canaan,

the promised land where evil finds no shelter

and milk and honey flow abundantly.

Where the woman I desire is waiting for me,

at the door of my house, longing and needy,

wife and lover.

Dreams, Dramas, Desires

Again alive, from

ambushes assembled by enemies in unsuspected corners,

by inoffensive and ordinary days;

unexpected malicious comments and dirty looks

of people always counted as faithful friends;

unknown and treacherous diseases,

out of reason or occasion to appear;

sleepless nights, frightened by horrible nightmares,

or sunny days, suddenly turned to cold and sullen ones;

recurrent sweet dreams appearing without warning,

in pensive and lonely nights,

remembrance of the woman you still love.

Again alive, unlearned from harsh past lessons,

so is the destiny of amorous, stubborn and delinquent a heart.

 

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

Friends, Land and Flowers

I am guilty of not having many loves

and so few being my friends.

I am a man of old-fashioned customs,

the one who hopes to be duly introduced

and then exchange a full conversation.

Forgotten refinement of the times of yore,

etiquette learned in the old social rites.

My friends are few, faithful and heartfelt,

not subject to those usual taps on the back,

easy laughs and feigned cuddling.

They are always austere, even stern,

but never fail when you need them.

Never accustomed to false praise

and empty words,

but prompt, effective and friendly deeds.

Like the land where I was born and raised,

dry plateaus and arid hills, narrow creeks

and honest meagre sheaves by the harvest.

Stubborn trees that, unlike the others,

wait for the driest season to bloom,

naked even of leaves, find strength

to bring forth delicate yellow flowers,

resembling the pure and true gold.

Passage to Paradise

The emotion that lies at the heart,

not shown in gestures and words,

cannot be measured or felt,

but for myself.

Disillusion,  sadness and despair,

even rejoicing and pleasure,

have created tears, salty and hot ones,

which have leavened the soil where I live,

bringing forth flowers, fruits, children.

Tears that have nourished and ennobled my spirit,

paying the toll I owe to the lord of the fief.

I am sure they are leading me to Canaan,

the promised land where evil finds no shelter

and milk and honey flow abundantly.

Where the woman I desire is waiting for me,

at the door of my house, longing and needy,

wife and lover.