Poema: ÍCONE
Autor: Odenir Ferro
O
mendigo já não sofre mais...
Porque
ele já está condenado.
A
sociedade, que o condenou,
Agora
o respeita, por isso.
A
sua dor não mais lhe interessa.
Consequentemente,
passa ele a ser
Respeitado,
na dor.
De
um solitário derrotado.
Perante
os olhos da humanidade,
Ele
é apenas um simples humilde
Perante
os olhos de Deus,
Ele
é apenas um ser humano a mais
Infinitamente
amado por ser parte da criação!
Mas
ele é um a mais entre tantos,
A
ser massacrado.
Nessa
máquina sangrenta e nojenta,
Que
sabe desfazer muito bem,
Daquilo
que não lhe serve, embora provável.
O
ser humano.
A
vida se desintegra.
Porque
os bons costumes,
Se desfez.
Se desfez.
O
amor é inconsequente.
As
vestes são sujas.
Porque
carrega dentro de si
O
pesado fardo das pobrezas
Geradas
pelos refugos da nobreza.
Poem: ICON
Author: Odenir Ferro
The beggar no longer suffers ...
Because he is already doomed.
The society, which condemned it,
You respect him now, that's why.
Your pain no longer interests you.
Consequently, it becomes
Respected, in pain.
Of a lonely defeated.
In the eyes of mankind,
He is just a simple humble
Before the eyes of God,
He is just an extra human being.
Infinitely loved for being part of creation!
But he is one among more,
To be massacred.
In this bloody and disgusting machine,
Who knows how to undo very well,
Of what does not suit you, although probable.
The human being.
Life disintegrates.
Because the good customs,
Love is inconsequential.
The robes are dirty.
Because it carries within itself
The heavy burden of poverty
Generated by the rejects of the nobility.
Author: Odenir Ferro
The beggar no longer suffers ...
Because he is already doomed.
The society, which condemned it,
You respect him now, that's why.
Your pain no longer interests you.
Consequently, it becomes
Respected, in pain.
Of a lonely defeated.
In the eyes of mankind,
He is just a simple humble
Before the eyes of God,
He is just an extra human being.
Infinitely loved for being part of creation!
But he is one among more,
To be massacred.
In this bloody and disgusting machine,
Who knows how to undo very well,
Of what does not suit you, although probable.
The human being.
Life disintegrates.
Because the good customs,
Love is inconsequential.
The robes are dirty.
Because it carries within itself
The heavy burden of poverty
Generated by the rejects of the nobility.
