My Ephemeral Blues Poem by Adilson Pinto

How can I deal with my blues?
But first I have to consider - what is this?
My blues? O yes! The blues which was sung
By the black slaves in the cotton plantations!
They transformed their pains in songs, in praises
Which they called - blues!
They were great!

Yes, I have my blues! Who doesn't?
But as a bright lesson from those slaves,
I don't do of my pains a reason to curse my life!
Reaping my own cotton today, not the cotton of any boss
When I feel that a scary storm is coming
Rays, tunders, deafening noises
I rise up my head, I close my eyes,
Then from the deep of my soul I sing a song
Which praises the Lord!

And thenI see something amazing:
From myselfit emanates a strong vibration
Hot, but very hot, and this vibration envolves me
Like a golden bubble, and the storm comes
And his hate is big, and his madness is big too,
The storm seem to be somebody into a mad house
I see it wants to destroy me!

But what can the storm do?
Am I not protect by the gold bubble of my own Self?
My blues...
So weak to face me! hahahaah!