I know that, one day, a doctor, who probably

I do not currently know,

will bend over me to attest to my death.

It will be one of the many tasks he will have that day.

He will be examining a corpse, but will never be able to attest to,

even imagine, the thousand and one days I happily lived                                                

with the lovers I conquered, the devoted and faithful friends

who gave me their smiles and countless hugs, all of this born                                        

from pure, naïve and strong a human camaraderie;

will know neither the sobs of anguish nor the desperate voice

of certain days, nor the tears I had to shed along some paths I walked;

will also never know the brightness of the days I was able to celebrate,

although it took a while, nor the victory over the enemies I had to face; 

will not think that there will be a God and Creator waiting for me,

analyzing and weighing the sentence that will have to be delivered,

nor what the new world to which I will be sent will be.

Published in Better than Starbucks, November 2021 issue.

http://www.betterthanstarbucks.org.

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