Our History and a Prayer
Somewhere, sometime in the old East Lands,
in a spot relieved for four rivers, shadowed
by luxurious a garden, at royal a manor house
and by one sixth labor day, we awakened to life.
Made on the Creator’s likeness, by many years
we enjoyed His care and His love.
Once, on uncovering life secrets,
like good and evil,
our ancestors were banished,
hard and harsh our toiling.
How long more will last our penalty?
When and where should we meet again?
Although heavy sternness demonstrated,
be aware many of us still venerate You,
and, some, still love.
We hope to see once more inhabited
that manor house where all has begun,
and, appeasing Your heart,
You disarm some cherubims’ flaming swords.
Fears, Feelings and Wants
There are certain weekends and holydays
when I feel myself somewhat insecure.
I worry if walking ghosts have not occupied
the void of empty streets and closed doors,
looking at me as an intruder or suspicious
on their ways.
I miss hearing the sound of hammers and
hoes, the strident come and go of saw blades,
the brushing of pens on paper or keyboards
being typed throwing feelings to the world.
I love the imprecations of painters and artists
when they can’t find the pure art they look for.
I love children screaming through the sidewalk,
running endless races only they are capable of.
I love the noise of people on streets and alleys,
corners and places,
jointly seeking to move hard wheels of time.
I love hearing someone making something,
even if it is the buzzing of bees.
Blessed By Birth
My accountant says that for each credit
there must be mandatorily one debit,
and next to the assets it must be shown
its corresponding liabilities.
Economists say there is no such thing
as a free lunch and that to each profit
will fatally correspond an equal loss.
So have been moved the heavy wheels
that carry our chariot through the ages.
But we know that our Creator’s accounts
do not close like this.
All of us are His lovely sons and His grace
covers and heals all days of our earthly life,
without any limitations and regardless of
our supposed right, merit, even faith.
We are His sons and His is this world,
ours the grace of so unquestioning love.
A Brazilian poet, Edilson A. Ferreira, 73, writes in English rather than Portuguese. Largely published in literary journals in print and online, he began his literary life at age 67, after his retirement as a graduate employee of a bank. Ferreira lives in a small town (Formiga – MG), with wife, three sons, and granddaughter. His first poetry book, “Lonely Sailor,” is scheduled for publication in 2018 by Olympia Publishers, London, UK. Has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, 2016.