Five Poems by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

 

Nostalgia

 

Someday I will die,

and even if they send my soul to the heavens,

I know I will be forever homesick.

For sure I will be longing for my days on earth,

remembering old surprising scarlet red sunsets,

preceding soft nights where happily I had met

some lovely and unforgettable women, sisters

our race has refined in such a beauty never seen

anywhere or anytime else.

Longing for a world made by ourselves, humans

full of many faults, sins and mismatches; stripped        

of gifts inherent to a God or a Creator, however  

never lacking incessant and true-hearted a love.

Longing for the smell of wet ground from which

our ancestors once were created;

longing for the birds’ carol perched on trees

where indomitable free winds sway their leaves

leaving also their song;

longing for the days of glory on winning struggles

once we had supposed were lost.

Longing for a man once alive who believed   

he could one day be a king in his kingdom.

 

(First published in Algebra of Owls, February 01, 2017)

 

 

Saints and Sinners

 

We founded churches, schools, hospitals,

we created priests, teachers and physicians;

some of us we acclaimed kings and judges,

some others, beggars and prisoners.

We care for our children, instilling in them

those dreams we were not able to fulfill.

We have changed our course many times,

both on the road and in our minds, 

so little different from those primitive hordes,

turning to the wind like a ship of old sailors.

We have never had even that natural gift of birds,

who know from birth their journeys and returns

in each season of their lives.

Saints and sinners, side by side, we write our history,

which, someday, will be read, and they will know that,

if we lacked wit and sapience,

there has been always a plenty of love.

A love full of disappointments, but blended with the joy

of alone colonizing a planet given to unknown ancestors,

which, despite life’s scars, has been always handed 

to ever welcome new generations.   

 

First published in Free Lit Magazine, The Chaos issue, September 28, 2018. 

 

 

Dangerous Regression

 

Sometimes I visit the past, long ago, perilous

and suspicious a world.

The road I take has been built entirely by me,   

in very hard a way no one at least dreams of.

Rough a path and full of so many deviations,

that even I, well used to, I go so timorous.  

Now, it is clear there were no other choices,

for only this way would lead me where I am.  

Where and what I must be ever since I was.

In this visit, I see friends, lovers, enemies,

grandfathers and cousins, see also myself.

Then, undoubted alive, they talk to me,  

ask for news and soon we are laughing, 

like old comrades who were absent for so long. 

On leaving, one or other intend to follow me,

but I go home alone.

I suspect that past is jealous of its deeds

and hides from us how it has weaved them.  

I think we must go there as few times

we are capable of.

 

First published in Taj Mahal Review, Dec 21, 2021 

 

 

Inward Nobility

 

I cannot accept the sacred and solemn

as private of the Popes and Bishops,

Kings and Judges.

On the various facets of daily life,

in the streets, avenues and alleys,

houses and hovels, by 

    hugging a friend long not seen,

    returning an unexpected smile,

    giving a hand to the child and

    listening to some elderly,  

    stopping to hear the birds 

    and the buzzing of the bees,

    admiring the beauty of the horizons

    and the flowers of the gardens, and,

    for the exasperation of all the demons, 

    making love, not war;  

there is genuine a solemnity,

also, grandeur and nobility, as

at the cathedrals, palaces and courts.

And so, we go easily moving

hard and heavy the wheels of time, 

towards uncertain and unknown days.

 

First published in Red Wolf Journal, August 10, 2016.

 

 

Guilty a Heart

 

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 also be worshiped,

tribute and respect to the Common Creator.  

Unhappily, I have amorous and stubborn a heart,   

perhaps a delinquent one,

used to fall in love almost every day. 

Could be it hard and insensitive,

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.

Then, I go, amazed and fascinated,

sometimes in despair and strained,

along with loving brothers and sisters, 

daily struggling to move hard   

and harsh the wheels of time.

 

(Published in Red Wolf Journal, Aug 8, 2021)

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.