Mishaps in Time

The faucets of time are always open

and it runs like wild colts,

in the open fields without limits or fences,

in summer days and 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 delay or hesitate.

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’s 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 from olden generations.

Endemics, pandemics, pain and loss,

may we subject all of this,

for they never have had, or even will,  

greater significance than so happy and glorious a fate, 

long enshrined, inside our most cherished belief and hopes.

Published in WestWard Quarterly, summer printed 2022 issue


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