Paradise
never existed,
Adam and
Eve were already wounded
in their
delightful bed
of leaves,
wrapped in
the purest blue shades,
cradled by the breezes of the Zephyr,
as read in
the mythical narration
stained by
sin and by the lower
ordering of
woman.
Adam had
one more rib,
a
supernumerary rib,
something
he did not need.
Eve was
born from it, as innocent
as the wine grapes, the apples f the orchard
or the
tears that she silently
shed.
Eve loved
the sun, Adam and the serpents
that entrusted to her the secrets of the earth.
She loved
the light around her,
and
Paradise existed there,
in the
place where Eve was fed
with the
red berries,
her spirit blossoming
from her entire body
away from
all narratives.
Eve
survived in the light of exile,
resplending
in the primordial innocence,
with Adam
replicating Life
in the
sinless aura
of
guiltless silence.
WOUNDED
ROSE
No sweetness comes to her at night,
but she
cradles all that take refuge
in her blue turquoise sky.
Her night
is not sweet, nor her life,
deprived of
its integrity under the acrid
and eager
brains that conquer,
devour and
oppress.
No
sweetness touches her.
Life is a
secluded canvas.
But poems
grow like grains of sand
in the
crystal of a cry.
In a
restless supplicant tear,
the bitter
complaint
appoints
her place in the cruelty
of its
absurd coherence.
Yet she
sings with the sea, the lyre,
the
shimmering wave,
and pours
the balm and the poem
in the
music of celestial lutes
when the
diamonds of the night echo
in the
sealed mystery of despair,
floating in
the wounded sounds
of her clamouring verses.
AQUARIUM
Women are
also aquariums,
fruitful
islands of misty glow,
insightful
glance, steep breasts,
forests of
eternity.
They are
invisible goddesses on earth.
Sometimes,
they disguise themselves,
they live
with other faces,
and hide
behind veils of myosotis,
black
eyelids absorbing like sponges
the
brightness of the sea,
and the
blackness of the world.
They hold
the torch of life,
the palms
of peace,
sprinkling
the dream, the word,
living by
the sea in houses
of mother
of pearl,
keeping
their mystery,
faithful to
their harps, their songs,
hovering
like birds
with
bruised wings
on the
looms of silk
of their
ancestral heritage.
Dr. Maria do Sameiro Barroso, medical doctor,
and a multilingual poet, translator, essayist and researcher, Vice-President of
the Portuguese Pen Centre between 2012-2014, member of the World Poetry
Movement (WPM), Portuguese Cultural Delegate of the Poetic Liceo of Benidorm,
Honor Member of the Circle of Mozambican Writers in the Diaspora, has authored
45 books of poetry, published in Portugal, Brazil, Spain, France, Serbia,
Belgium, Albany, and USA, and translation and books of essays. Her poems are
translated into twenty languages. She organizes anthologies, cultural events,
and is invited to international poetry festivals. She was awarded with several
literary poetry prizes.
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