Mishaps in Time

The faucets of time have been opened

and it runs like wild colts,

in the open fields without limits or fences,

in summer days, fresh green grass.

Time is not tamed, have not been recruited

or trained the toilers for this craft;

it takes all of us and everything around,  

and, as if it had been taught the path to follow,

does not hesitate, does not even sleep.

Has been doing its task since world’s lead-off,

and never ponders what has been ordered.

Day and night, in joy and sadness,

willingly or forced,  

old, young, rich and poor, wise and foolish,

we are carried away like dry leaves in the fall.

Let us be proud and adapt to this journey,

not allowing to the scars, personal

or collective, the power to postpone

or eliminate the search of our Eldorado,

once promised since old generations.

Endemics, pandemics, pain and loss,

may we subject all of this, for they never have,

or have had, greater significance than the fate

surely one happy and glorious, reserved for us,

inside our most cherished belief and hopes.

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