Poetry: Maria Do Sameiro Barraso

Maria do Sameiro Barroso (Portugal), a Medical Doctor, a Germanist and a multilingual and awarded poet, translator, essayist and researcher in Portuguese and German Literature, Translation Studies and History of Medicine, is a Member of Honor of the Association Alia Mundi from Serbia, an Ambassador of Literacy and Culture of the ASIM SASAMI INDONESIA GLOBAL WRITERS of Indonesia, the Portuguese Ambassador of the Prodigy Life Academy (USA) and awardee of the Mili Dueli Contest for Portugal, Montenegro 2023. She has authored over 40 poetry books, translations and essays. Her poems have been translated into over thirty languages.

SECRETE LANDSCAPES

When I was a child, my landscapes

were green, and the summers were long.

My dreams were like seashells

wrapped in the breeze 

and the blue infinity.

Then, the machines of the world

crushed my dreams,

and, in my brain, pansies and daisies 

plunged into the water of the night.

Black hammers and ceaseless wheels

crushed my liver,

red like the bleeding liver of Prometheus

which the eagles came to eat

under the ashen sky,

hiding my secret landscapes of radiance

in the dark nights of the moon.

***

MIMOSA FLOWERS

I was starting to write myself, my true self,

learning from challenging experiences 

of poetry and life.

I was there for the truth in me, 

for the truth, for the genuine people

meeting poets in my first poetry meeting.

On the last day, traditional singers 

wearing hats adorned by mimosa flowers

came to us from the mist 

of February‘s day.

Poetry was a blue craft on silver wattle 

that you could pick up from a bush, 

or enjoy by observing a dragonfly 

or the golden moss 

on the walls of a medieval castle.

I was experiencing the light, 

the sweet vertigo of mild days, 

revisiting fairy tales, 

white clouds and patches of almond 

blossoms.

The cliffs were steep, however,

like poetry,

hanging ethereal from mimosa flowers

and the blue scent of the lilacs.

***

POETRY – A CROSSING RAINBOW

It´s raining, and I think of you.

Maybe because, to me, you are the real 

the essence of life and poetry.

Once, we met in the crossways of life.

But the words were suspended, 

banned like our feelings.

The silence was a long river of grief,

extending from each other.

Poetry was the only place 

where we could find shelter,

finding the paths to exorcise 

the daily death buried at the bottom 

of asphyxiating caves.

We wanted to cry out our dreams,

the whitest domes of memory.

It was raining, and we were lost

in alleys of shadows.

Just your eyes were clear,

my hands were real.

Just poetry was a star, a pearl, 

a crossing rainbow.

***

---

Setu, February 2025