Remarks about a
Birth Signal
Once, a hopeless face at the corner,
for fear,
did not dare to ask you for alms.
Then, in spite of having noticed
this,
you kept on your way.
Once, a friend spoke to you about his
sorrows,
hoping you would be a confident or a
counselor;
you actually noticed this, but,
indeed, you did not dare to.
You surely remember, another day,
that business,
so good for you and a bad bargain
for the other,
and you, even conscious, have closed
it.
By one other day, hearing just your
son spoke
in loud and clear,
some hard and insidious words to the
world,
you, silent, did not restrain him.
Knowing true love one woman is
capable of,
and surely aware yours the most loving
of all,
you have never loved her half this way.
Although late we are to demand such
things,
do not forget we were marked by
birth a signal,
that of be answerable for any of our
equals.
it is not allowed so little a support
and cherish.
Silent Witnesses
It is
common our disputes about this and that.
Really,
almost daily, we are at opposite sides.
Friends
say we are not well-settled a couple,
and so
misjudgment, I know, hurt us equally.
In the
deeps of night, standing awake in bed,
I look at
you asleep and feel all friends’ error.
Who would
bear testimony of us, I ask myself.
Walls and
roofs by sure know our inmost life
but they
do not speak, are invalid witnesses.
I ask
them if just to me would they say of us.
They say
of our confronts, furies, rough words
and
revilements but also remember hugs and
hot
kisses. Likewise, remember have listened
some words
like it is cold out, dear, wear your
coat or
don’t be late, darling; some little things
only
beloved ones are capable to.
They say
we are at hard and arduous a battle,
on pursuing,
although scarce, a bit of true love.
They also
say to keep the route and fear nothing.
Tiles and
bricks, indeed, they are; but perceive,
unlike
our best friends, the very plot of the play.
First published
in TWJ Magazine, October 2014.
A Man’s
(respectful) Prayer
My God, why don’t you come?
You, who are the Creator,
and see what your creation became
and see how are your people living?
You know so hard and harsh our toiling
since we were banished from your side.
How much time will we endure alone?
When and where our meeting?
Meeting of reason and faith, and passion.
End for the longing for you and for our past,
for the primeval wellspring that outpoured us,
for the Being we venerate, and, some, still love.
For one manor house, once inhabited
in the Paradise Land, that was relieved
not by one, but by four rivers.
Where the manor house, where the rivers?
Where you, so far from your creature,
aside from humanity, deaf for our grief?
Give us at least one of your four rivers,
to mitigate and quench eternal thirst of fatherhood.
Published in The Gambler, April 2015 issue.
Mr. Ferreira is a Brazilian poet published (or upcoming to) in venues like Right Hand Pointing, Boston Poetry Magazine, The Lake, The Stare’s Nest, The Provo Canyon, Red Wolf Journal, Subterranean Blue, Highland Park Poetry, Whispers, Every Day Poems, Indiana Voice Journal, Synesthesia, Dead Snakes and various others. Short listed in four American Poetry Contests, lives in a small town with wife, three sons and a granddaughter and is collecting his works for a forthcoming book.
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