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.
***
