-After ‘Night Hawks’, oil on canvas, 1942, by Edward Hopper- Night that brings with itself lack of love, hesitation on living, even fear, as escaping and fleeing from world’s demands. Night passing far away from others not long ago, paraphrased by so many poets always praising, since ancient times, beauty of mutual warmth and human complicity. People hidden in a furtive safety of a dull bar, unable to come out of their shells and share some good news, perhaps hidden desires or love secrets, yet distrust and uncertainties. Yet unable to reach that souls’ communion, entire and unique humans’ purpose, fearful to break supposed barriers, walls and fences separating us. Where the firmness of our ancestors, never afraid to penetrate dangers of dark and haunted nights? Where the joy and smiles, where the words that had spoken their dreams and drawn their desires? Words and desires that built the world they bequeathed us which we are about to lose, deaf and dumb for its beauties. Unhappy and disinterested, we will transfer to our sons only aridity and dryness, our aloofness and our despair. First published in Young Ravens Literary Review issue 6, summer 2017 issue.
My dead, those I loved in life, I do not bury them. They remain forever unburied, at least as long as I can stay alive. When I die, they will be buried beside me. I am sure they know this, knowing also I am still counting on their help and support. We talk about everything and everyone, we laugh, weep, love and hate; they rest with me at night and give me strength, at the dawn of a new day. Every victory of mine, they applaud and rejoice, as faithful crowd, that accompanies their team. Morbid desires, unnatural cravings, some will say. But no, it is just great and honest one love, a pure one, that understands and consoles me on certain days. Days full with doubts, shadows and ill feelings, those that fate has marked for me, which, by sure, I will not be able to avoid. Published in Poetry Poetics Pleasure, March 2021.
Mr. Ferreira, 77 years, is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than in Portuguese. Widely published in selected international literary journals, he began writing at age 67, after his retirement 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. He is always updating his works at www.edilsonmeloferreira.com