Five Poems by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

 

On a Current Theatrical Season

 

There is a world waiting for its time to happen.

It waits, attentive to the counterpoint marker,

its turn to enter the scene.

Eyes open, anonymous among the spectators,

an envoy, an emissary and plenipotentiary 

of the author of the play, so that each speech,

each act, mainly unwanted and unexpected,

do not become lost.

The author, at home and even more anonymous,

did not want to witness the event, surely regretful

and disconsolate of the rawness at times

he could not avoid in the unfolding of the plot.

And so different worlds overlap,

at its due and exact time.

And the author, in his forced retreat,

his decaffeinated coffee and non-alcoholic beer,

a cloistered five o’clock tea, 

a sad and lonely heart. 

 

 

Hidden in the Depths of Time

 

Suddenly, on any given day, walking up the sidewalks

   became more difficult, it looks like they got taller;

the noise of children and teenagers became louder,

   it started to bother you; 

your children have passed the line of youth

   and you see them as middle-aged people,

   almost elderly;

that book or movie everyone recommends to you,

   and after fifteen minutes of reading or watching,

   you get bored because you have already guessed

   the ending it is proposing;

you have become different, more reserved, quieter,

   looking suspiciously at everyone around you,

   even old friends;

Even worse, and it hurts my heart,

   that young and beautiful woman,

   you never fail to notice and see in the eyes 

   of rapture and admiration, even desire, 

   you note she withdraws, does not reciprocate; 

then you ask yourself – do people think I have stopped

   loving what is beautiful in this world?

despite everything, you maintain your vigor and fullness,

   which they seem to ignore, so you have to learn to live

   with a new status that has been granted to you;

allowing them not to know or suspect you had a youth

   much happier, one they will never have, because time  

   and wind took it away, being hidden, forever and ever.

A Recurring Dream 

 

Sometimes one of us rises to the surface,

taking flight from the depths a dark sea,

where, exiled, we have stayed for so long.      

Defeated in old battles forgotten in time,

sentenced in absentia by a merciless court,

clearing debts of incautious ancestors.

Our vision accustomed to the shadows,

our body surviving with minimal breath.

When the one who adventures the climb

arrives on the shore and breathes full life,

he is abruptly sunk again by diligent guards,

those armed cherubim at Paradise Gate.

Has our penalty not yet lapsed?

Has the reparation of the beaten not yet been paid?

Could we endure light by the day of release?

Perhaps, then, with a pledge of the dark days of yore,

we may, sharing beloved Earth with the Almighty, 

build a new light; friendly to the human nature,

openhearted, unabrasive, and compassionate.

 

First published in Galway Review, August 13, 2025 

 

 

Rebirth

 

I sleep in a dream generated by the nightmares

and eat scraps of hope, milled in the impersonal

and mechanical time machine.

Scraps that feed me to be no more than a dry tree, 

searching for pulling and unwinding roots

that capture me on the ground.

I prevailed over fate that once deceived me

and now walk and will spread my life around. 

I wish distemper, hallucinate, and extrapolate,

horrifying who has enchanted and eluded me

in that dark and deaf land, that was not mine.

I will go, doubtlessly renewed man, in search

not of a drop of water but of one rain that rains

thunder and lightning, the same as the flood

that has baptized our era.

I will reap fruits that, blessed by my hands

and hard a toil, 

It will make me stronger.

I will make love to my wife in sheets of soft Chinese silk

and we will be asleep in a bed of fragrant Lebanon woods.

Not that I deserve more than Abraham,

who only had a glimpse of the Promised Land,

but, of this new one, God willing,

I will take secure possession.

 

First published in the Gambler, April 2015.

 

Cherished Desires

 

I feel I could never be related to owls, bats 

and wolves, or other nocturnal animals.

I love at daylight to stare at the world face to face,

entirely visualizing all its beauties. 

I love the sunrise that dispels the blackness,

exposing and revealing everything,   

without shame, measure or prudence.

I love to feel that we’re on the road again, 

to a future we aren’t aware of, but confident

in one Almighty who, closely and amorously,

hidden and discreet, maybe even shy,

drives and guides all of us. 

I love the noise of people on streets and alleys,

corners and places, 

jointly seeking to move the hard wheels of time.

I prefer love vows made clearly under the sun

than those made in the rapture of night passions.

I must confess that, on some sunny days

and a blue sky,

I dream of riding the winds high and high, 

looking for the lost realms of Paradise.

 

First published in Indiana Voice Journal, Sept/Oct. 2017 issue.

Edilson Afonso Ferreira, 82 years old, is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than Portuguese. Has launched two Poetry Collections, entitled “Lonely Sailor” and “Joie de Vivre”; has 200 poems published, in 360 different publications, in selected international Literary Journals. Has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. 

He began writing at the age of 67, after retiring from a bank. He is always updating his works at www.edilsonmeloferreira.com.