Small towns tell stories of their inhabitants,
those current ones and those
who already have said goodbye to this life.
Indeed, people prefer to be told of those
who are no longer with us.
Unlike the big cities, such stories are known for all
and never fall into oblivion.
As if they were plots of soap operas or television series,
always appear followers of this or that character,
who neither know nor suspect they have not died,
continuing to live and giving to the posterity some reason
to unfold uncertain and unknown their days ahead.
People don’t forget the one who didn’t listen to parents,
brought his wife from stranger town
and produced three sons and countless betrayals;
also that family whose grandparents were dominant
in society, their sons lost tradition and money,
grandchildren now live in poverty
and don’t know how to start again;
that casino and its illusive machines and stripteases,
bad-looking owners and poker tables, boycotted
by the population and set out to look for another place;
the cemetery that needs to be deactivated
and make way for a new and more modern,
what they are putting off, so they continue to rest
and be seen near those they had loved in life.
They realize with sadness the current youth which loses
the meaning and strength of one life well lived,
the smile that was able to open hope and create
their fathers’ generation.
A generation that persecutes daily the happiness
in all its fullness we are in the right duty to achieve.
This poem and all others at this blog, authored by Edilson Afonso Ferreira ©