Bernedita Rosinha Pinto
On The Alps (For Air Crash Victims Of Germanwings) - Poem by Bernedita Rosinha Pinto
In the bosom of the Alps, our souls rest
strewn like flowers all over the mountains.
O God, we have not sinned to die like this,
we have not to seek the gentleness of the breeze
we have been carried by the wind itself
and in thousand bits we lie scattered,
while our dreams, our hopes, our tomorrows
all vanished, thrown asunder just by fate
which one man, just one, who decided our end.
God, we have not to seek forgiveness
we have not to knock the Heaven’s door
we have already entered there to dwell with You.
We have loved and lived, cried and died
but in the final moments of our departing
O God, how did You fail to hear our cries?
how did You not send us angels of Mercy?
To die the way we did, was like a tornado
that lifted us up and tossed us down
in hundred pieces, uncollectible, devoid of survival,
even our own loved ones will not recognize us,
or be able to touch us, embrace us.
Could we have ever imagined
we would have to leave this world
without a final kiss, without a final prayer?
as on the Alps we rest
together in death and together in niche.
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