My dead, those I loved in life,

I do not bury them.

They remain forever unburied,

at least as long as I can stay alive.

When I die, they will be buried beside me.

Meanwhile, wherever I go, they are my companions.

We talk about everything and everyone,

we laugh, weep, love and hate;

they rest with me at night and give me strength,

at the dawn of each new day.

Every victory of mine, they applaud and rejoice,

as faithful crowd that accompanies their team.

Morbid desires, unnatural cravings, some will say.

But no, it is just great and honest a love, a pure one,

that understands and consoles me on certain days.

Days full with doubts, shadows and ill feelings,

those that fate has marked for me,

which, surely, I will be not able to avoid.

Today I am remembering the voices I have been hearing,

which are recorded in my memory:

the first cry of the newborn, searching to be noticed

in the new world in which they are starting;

the last cry of pain from the dying,

saying goodbye to those who remain;

by the summer, the geese’s hisses and

the buzzing of bees and hummingbirds,

in their comings and goings to their flowers;

on happy nights, more guessed than heard,

the vows and whispers of passionate lovers;

the noise of people on the streets, corners and squares,

struggling not to go unnoticed

and to leave their stories written.

Likewise, and, perhaps, even more remarkable,

at least for me,

the voice that cannot be spoken,

coils in the throat, comes back to the soul,

then radiates in the brightness of the eyes,

entranced by:

the extreme beauty of the beloved woman,

the smile that was thought to be lost,

the children’s return, long absent from home,

the sun that got lost last night,

wondrously back by the morning.

These are strong feelings that make life worth living,

and more light our journey.

A journey in which we hold hands,

towards the promised land,

where milk and honey flow,

and evil never finds shelter.

 

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

 

 

It happened in a cold Saturday afternoon,

under remarkable and pure blue sky,

like some others that autumn had unfolded.

You were dressed in a grey coat and a golden smile,

and sudden said those words I had never listened to:

– I love you –

Surprised, seduced, unvoiced,

you heard my silence as consent,

and so you baptized and blessed forever

happy and exquisite our entire life.

I like humans.

They are a peculiar people who are confined

on a planet long forgotten in space.

Abandoned, as well as in a bus with non-existent stops,

they believe that it is in store for them

safe and happy a destiny.

It seems they are waiting for a new land, where milk

and honey flow abundantly and evil never finds shelter,

once promised by the creator of their race.

Such is the story that has been passed by their ancestors,

successively buried in the wheels of time.

I think they deserve to be supported in every way possible,

as their toiling has been proven very arduous and painful.

Indeed, they have so far endured their journey, due to odd,

exquisite and singular a love, that has survived,

despite countless setbacks and mismatches.

Anyway, although his absence,

they remember and revere their creator,

and, some, even love.

When I cover my ears,

I do not hear the waves of the sea,

I hear your sweet voice.

When I close my eyes,

I do not see darkness,

I see the light of your face

and your smile.

When I fall asleep

and leave this world,

entering the world of dreams,

I look for you but I cannot find.

It must be because God heard my prayers

and was moved. We will wake up early in the morning,

and, despite world’s bitterness,

we will have our land, our house, our bed,

our love, laughter, tender kisses and hugs.

And, from time to time, we will let them see,

those who envy and never care us,

even a little of the tears we will share.

My daughter would like to know

how many legs the letter m has?

How many sides the dice has?

How many strings has the puppeteer

to handle his theater dolls?

It reminds me I would like to know

where the well that fate has fished

my loves, my friends, my children?

Who stole my desires, my passions,

my kisses, my hugs, my most cherished dreams?

Where are they captives?

How many more suffering and uncertainty remain?

Where does the king receive his subjects who claim for justice?

 

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

 

 

I come from far away, from a land you do not know,

where there was no uncertainty or doubt,

the windsocks at the airports only marked

good winds, never thunderstorms or calamities.

All the flights departed at the right times,

with all destinations assured,

as well as the marriages and lives

of each one of its inhabitants.

Winds, rain and snow had their proper seasons,

did not extrapolate and cohabited naturally

and amicably with humans.

Even tragedies and accidents, so few ones,

have their correct proportions and partners,

accepted and shared by mutual agreement.

Really, a perfect midsummer night’s dream.

Nowadays, I am an outcast from my homeland,

and I know the path to my return is blocked.

I fear I will live with you for a long time yet.

I must write a book, if do not have time,

some poems, perhaps, telling my stories,

happiness, even magic, which I left behind.

 

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

 

 

I have children that I have generated

on happy and joyful days,

easy laughs, affectionate toasts,

love whispers,

tight hugs and endless kisses.

But I love more the ones generated

on unexpected and improvised feelings,

without flaunt or adornment,

no parties or songs,

just by sudden enchantment of beauty.

Yet I love even more those created

on that ordinary, dark and quiet day,

without desire, rapture or passion,

by just communing and obeying to

our Creator’s greatest commandment:

“Be fruitful and multiply. Bring forth abundantly

in the earth and multiply in it” – Genesis 9-7.

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

There are countries, states, laws, constitutions,

Bible, Koran, catechisms, versicles.

Multiple versions, different procedures,

corrections and penalties.

As if we, humans, because having spread ourselves

around our entire world, were diverse,

dissimilar, incompatible beings.

The truth, so little faced and assumed,

and indoctrinated with so little faith,

is that we came destined to keep alive

the flame of mutual and supportive love,

free from color, race, religion walls and borders.

We have had intelligence and culture to, unluckily,

only improve our mismatches and idiosyncrasies.

The longer we stay on this strange route,

we will be farther from the promised land,

that Canaan where milk and honey flow,

and evil has no place and hides,

defeated, confused and humiliated.

 

Published in Burningword Literary Journal, issue 93, January 2020

http://www.burningword.com

 

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

 

 

 

When night comes and sleep does not appear,

I ride through unsuspected worlds,

have memories even from days I did not live,

by sure dreams I did not realize.

The yearning is loose; I have to fill the void,

so that I arrive in full to another day waiting for me,

new challenges, new fights.

The new day will be powerful and pugnacious,

unlike me, one day older and not being able to hide

on the face and soul, the marks of misfortune and sorrow,

unrequited loves, dislikes and mismatches.

I will show that I did not renounce the human inheritance,

and, along with dear fellow ones I lived, loved and suffered,

having watered the road even with sweat and tears.

Always sure that we will reach, at the end of the journey,

the promised land, and, unlike Abraham,

who just had a glimpse, we will took secure possession, and,

dancing and partying, that day, we will throw to the skies,

sound and honest a laughter.

 

Published in Young Ravens Literary Review, issue 11, Winter 2019.

http://www.youngravensliteraryreview.org

Published in TreeHouse Arts, July 18, 2020.

http://www.treehousearts.me

 

 

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