Varsha (Monsoon) 2020 Poems - Edilson Afonso Ferreira



The new Land I will find

By Edilson Afonso Ferreira


I sleep in a dream generated in the nightmares
and eat scraps of hope, milled in the impersonal
and mechanical time’s machine.


Scraps that feed me to be not 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, which was not mine.


I will go, renewed and hopeful a man, on search
not for a drop of water but for a rain that rains
thunder and lightning, the same like the flood
that hasbaptized our era.


I will reap fruits that, blessed by my hands
and hard a toil, will make me increasingly
powerful and resonant a man.


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.


A Beating of Wings

We pretend to have our life,
even world’s life, always under control,
from past generations to present days.


Sometimes we feel close to that certainty,
and it is good that this should happen,
giving us some encouragement on the route.


We work with the mind and the heart,
science and desire, on outlining the future,
which we desire and anticipate promising and happy.


Turning around the street corners, every so often,
we came across unforeseen and frightening facts,
perhaps echoes of ancient Greek dramas and tragedies,
worshiped by people of an era that has been lost,
civilizations poor of hope on the human rebirth.


Wars, revolutions, tyrannies and persecutions,
born on the drumming of soulless men,
have delayed our arrival in the promised land,
where milk and honey spur and light reigns,
preventing all evil once sown.


A land we have not yet arrived to,
but it is already heard
the beating of the wings of the dove’s return,
like that of Noah, bringing in its beak
the green branch of the olive tree


Mr. Ferreira, is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than in Portuguese. Widely published in international journals in print and online, he began writing at age 67, after retiring as a bank employee. Nominated for The Pushcart Prize 2017, his first Poetry Collection, Lonely Sailor, One Hundred Poems, was launched in London in November of 2018.


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