Forever Human Generations

We founded churches, schools, hospitals,

we created priests, teachers and physicians;

some of us we acclaimed kings and judges,

some others, beggars and prisoners.

We care of our children instilling in them

those dreams we were not able to fulfill.

We have changed our course many times,

both on the road and on our minds,

so little different of those primitive hordes,

turning to the wind like one ship of old sailors.

We have never had even that natural gift of birds,

who know by birth their journeys and returns

by each season of their lives.

Saints and sinners, side by side, we write our history,

which someday it will be read and they will know that,

if we lacked wit and sapience,

it never lacked plenty of love.

A love full of disappointments, but blended with the joy

of alone colonizing a planet given to unknown ancestors,

what, despite life’s scars, has been always handed

to welcome and hopeful new generations.


Someday they will read

Plowing the fields and producing wheat, oats and beans;

rising sheep, cows and pigs;

rising and spreading children and instilling in them

those dreams we were not able to turn into reality.

Throwing rails, roads, bridges and ports,

cities, skyscrapers, churches and cathedrals,

always leaving fences and borders;

creating worlds only ours,

incapable and fearful to cohabit the one

that has been given to us in full.

Boasting and toasting on life’s daily feast,

trying to write our history which has begun

in that sixth day of the divine journey of creation.

They who will read this history will know it was lived

without the power and glory of our creator,

but with love, endearment and determination,

struggling to move forward hard and harsh wheels of time.

And the Wind Came

Showing that did not come for love,

did not know how to be gentle and affectionate.

It came for lust and voluptuousness, not the breath

of a lover, but the madness of the impassioned.

Did not learn to be breeze, was born this way,

snorting and showing its claws,

without notice or warning.

Knocking at the doors and all of a sudden

forcing the windows,

like one river which comes out of its bed

and flood lands around.

Did not waste time making swirls or pranks,

its shot was direct and accurate, without pause or rest,

like shameless male, clothes off and in open air,

covering, without modesty or prudence,

his chosen female.

Has warned not to scrimp its desire,

not turning into a hurricane.


Published in Tree House Arts, Jan 31, 2018


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

Kind of Love

There was once a summer,

lost in the folds of time,

where, no one knows,

has existed happiness.

It has appeared only for us,

nobody else’s.

Never affected by daily hardships,

always shielded from world’s rust,

has remained in our hearts

and we know will not disappear,

even by the collapse of our bodies.

Nothing can end such a love,

born in hot winds, baptized

in fresh rain and crowned,

as blessed by the skies,

on stunning and mystical lightning.


Published in Free Lit Magazine, January 23, 2018, The Bildungsroman issue.

Still Alive

Although many of you pushed me down,

saddening my soul and planning to bury

hopes and desires for a better world;

although the profusion of fallen angels,

that should inhabit other worlds than ours,

wandering mute and hidden in malicious works;

although the silence of the honest and righteous

and the audacity of the insolents;

although precious my soul dwells in fragile a body;

I am still alive walking along dear fellow ones,

amorous brothers and sisters,

towards desired and promised a new land.

Earthly Love

I know there is a final day for my life on earth.

I have striven to earn the prize of the righteous,

which is, after death, living on the Paradise.

But, oh my God, I love so much this planet

You granted to us from so earliest ages!

I love every sunrise, every new day calling me

on joining forces to open new work fronts.

I love that scarlet red sunset that announces

the early evening, enchanting and bewitching

haunted nights always full of beautiful women,

loving sisters of our race, only found here,

nowhere else.

I learned to love hard and harsh the way

we were condemned to gain our bread,

since the disobedience of our forefathers.

I think I will never be able to say goodbye

to this homeland, mine and of all of us.

Perhaps, if I come to deserve an eternal life,

may You leave me here, enchanted as an elf

or a fairy, forever feeling its brown ochre scent,

around sinful, yet amorous brothers and sisters.

How much

How much longer must we hope

for a life free of the devil’s seed

and of the fallen angels’ malice?

For a faith that everything remains

on inflexible plans of a Holy Spirit?

For a love that goes beyond barriers

between countries, creeds and races;

including whites, negroes and browns,

elderly and young, men and women?

How much longer we continue to disregard

invisible motionless cloud overlapping us,

which, at due time rewards and punishes

all sons of amorous yet stern our Creator?