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