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 for 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 in our minds,

so little different from those primitive hordes,

turning to the wind like a ship of old sailors.

We have never had even that natural gift of birds,

who know from birth their journeys and returns

in each season of their lives.

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

which, some day, will be read, and they will know that,

if we have never  lacked wit and sapience,

it has never lacked a plenty of love.

A love full of disappointments, but blended with the joy

of alone colonizing a planet given to unknown ancestors,

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

to welcome ever new generations.

Published in Indiana Voice Journal, March-April 2018 issue.

http://www.indianavoicejournal.com

Showing that it 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.

It 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 a river which comes out of its bed

and floods the lands around.

It did not waste time making swirls or pranks;

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

like a shameless male, clothes off and in open air,

covering, without modesty or prudence,

his chosen female.

It has warned not to scrimp its desire,

not turning into a hurricane.

Published in Tree House Arts, Jan 31, 2018

http://www.treehousearts.me

Published in The Chamber Magazine , May 7 2021

http://www.thechambermagazine.com

Published in PPP Ezine, May 2021

http://www.poetrypoeticspleasureezine.wordpress.com

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

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,

it has remained in our hearts

and we know it 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,

by stunning and mystical lightning.

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

http://www.freelitmagazine.com

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 in 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

to join 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,

among sinful, yet amorous brothers and sisters.

 

Published in Indiana Voice Journal, March-April 2018 issue.

http://www.indianavoicejournal.com

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?

Fear of people who have no fear of God.

Fear of them awind for all beauties overspread around.

Fear of the evil omens that torment and dwell in the minds

of those born without faith.

Fear of those who forget we are a masterpiece coined

by the sixth day in the divine journey of creation, and,

pleased for us, the Creator rested on the seventh one.

Fear for those who don’t believe our life on earth consists

in sacred and saint a pilgrimage that leads us, sure and safe,

to long dreamed and promised a new land.

Fear that these pure and simple truths cease to dwell

in the hearts of loving brothers and sisters.

We constitute a family and build our houses,

set up enterprises, give people jobs and hopes.

We plant vines, bridges and ports,

raise sheep and sons.

We throw up rails and roads, farms and cities,

churches, cathedrals and skyscrapers.

We spread life all around,

as if we were the owners of this world.

We plan our lives every day, for months

and years ahead, faithfully dreaming,

although fully aware that God, in spite

of having made us in his likeness,

has not given us neither eternal life,

nor his full sapience.

This is our fate, since we have been created.

However, with sole and specific a love,

and steadfast a faith,

we have been able to move forward the heavy

and hard wheels of time, towards desired

and promised a new land.

The biblical one, where honey and milk flow

and evil never finds shelter, which lies,

we firmly believe, not far beyond

the horizon of an upcoming and blissful day.

(Published in Active Muse, Varsha (summer) 2022)

http://www.activemuse.org

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

Who watches over my sleep?

Who prevents me from falling off bottomless cliffs?

Who keeps my cold and disconsolate heart beating,

after its daily hardships, usual unavoidable clashes?

Who enlightens my spirit, shielding it from the world’s rust?

Who embraces my soul, caresses and puts her to rest,

sovereign and survivor from the evil-wants of life?

Who breathes on me new life when I wake up,

ready to work, pursue treasures and fame,

play, laugh, love and sing?

It is my Lord, since the beginning of my days,

always backing me, so weak a vassal, to fulfill,

among dear fellow ones, my mission on Earth.

 

Published in Spirit Fire Review, September 2018 issue.

http://www.spiritfirereview.com