An Angel told me

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.

By night, when I fall asleep,

leaving this world,

sadly, I see you leaving too.

Maybe God heard my prayers

and was moved. We will wake up early one morning,

and, despite world’s bitterness,

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

lots of love, laughter, tender kisses and hugs.

Then, maybe, 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.

Published in Active Muse, Varsha (Monsoon) July 11 2021

http://www.activemuse.org

Family Doubts

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 ©

 

 

The Land where I lived

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 love all of them

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 ©

Far away from Home

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 ©

 

 

 

Night

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 take secure possession.

Then, dancing and partying,

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

Published in the Chamber Magazine, July 9 2021

http://www.thechambermagazine.com

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

My Hurry

They do not know that I am in a hurry.

A hurry to love this world even more,

with all people destiny has given to me,

fellow travelers in the common journey.

A hurry to instill and teach my children

the art of goodwill and mutual respect,

pillars that bring us closer to the Creator.

A hurry to fight the good fight, wielding

my sword, my mind and my will

against hopeless and unfaithful brothers,

acolytes of those fallen angels who envy,

hate and despise happiness, love and

the common good.

A hurry that before the end of my days,

may I help us to be closer to the promised land,

where milk and honey flow and evil ever hides,

defeated, disoriented, humiliated.

 

Published in Poetry Poetics Pleasure, September 2019

http://www.poetrypoeticspleasureezine.wordpress.com

 

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

My Tears and my Cries

I cry for the estrangement among whites and blacks,

yellows and browns, Christians and Muslims;

for the rich who reach water from golden faucets

and the poor who carry it in the buckets;

for the wine and salmon tables of the mansions

and the yesterday’s bread passing from hand to hand;

for the security of the politicians on the comings years

and the fear of the common people for tomorrow;

for the dreams of the righteous, that have not come true

and the audacity of the insolents, who have no feelings

and are not intimidated.

But I hope to have strength until my last day,

to pierce the veil that seeks to cover evil,

lifting up my sword in the Lord’s army,

always angry against injustice and oppression.

It is my faith that this will be

sacred and ultimate my soul’s redemption.

 

Published in The Phoenix, printed issue Abril 2020

http://www.pfeiffer.phoenix.com

Passionate Journey

So many beauties spread by the way,

I cannot pass without enjoying one by one.

Indeed, there are some ones so beautiful that,

besides to enjoy, should be also worshiped,

tribute and respect to the Common Creator.

Unhappily, I have amorous and stubborn a heart,

perhaps a delinquent one,

used to falling in love almost every day.

Could it be hard and insensible,

just as almost all of them,

so I would pass fast and safe,

impassible and passionless.

But it usually picks up a song,

from unknown a spell,

fairy music of the wind, or, who knows,

resurrected Ulysses’ mermaids singing,

that, poor me, I cannot resist.

So I go, amazed and fascinated,

sometimes on despair and strained,

along with loving brothers and sisters,

daily struggling to move hard

and harsh the wheels of time.

Nothing than Praise

I have not paid to the world as much as I owe.

I was born naked; I have clothes, house, and car.

I was born unknown; I have friends, admirers,

have even had  people who loved me.

My body has withstood sun, rain, wind and snow,

has been spared the onslaught of viruses and microbes,

unwanted messengers of diseases and afflictions,

but, towering, persists defiant.

Evil spirits, the fallen ones, sown in wait,

have hit my carcass, my sacred helmet,

but, defeated, lie by the wayside.

I can only pay praising and worshiping, firm and strong,

body and spirit, in hope of the re-encounter with our creator,

sacred, ultimate and legitimate human’s redemption.