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Choral songs for the promised day

To the reader

From the depths of chaos and mistrust
Along an orb that lacks account or end
You have come humble to this day
Ennobled by tears, heralds of your soul

From the depths of prescribed duty
Along streets branded by desire
You have misguided relatives and friends
Beings that scorn innocent smiles

Child born before and after every age
Forged in indolence by trembling words,
Errors that keep terrors from the past
Bygone pinnacles of tenacity and pride

Daily trials hale or sicken our common fate
Life, maze of cristal, wheat and blood
It would be so dark without a candle light
So unhappy without a willingness to love

There is no time, no space, no wealth,
Only the remembrance of a naked heart
Over success, sickness, paternity and death
Forget and embellish your decaying flesh

Ponder beyond eternity and death,
And if fear and suspicion mould your acts
Fear the awe-inspiring orchestration of today
And suspect the imminence of other lives

First Choral Song for the Promised Day

Intone a song to the promised day
Path to nothingness, aware of nothingness

Day decided by the hosts of heaven
Day of wishful redemption and regret
Sea tasted by Abel's foes and Noe's sons
Oedipus' fall down Etna's mouth

Intone a song to the promised day
Path to nothingness, aware of nothingness

Wide sky up Maria Antonieta's head
Flaming heaven according to Saint Joan
The fading ecstasy of the Babylonian whores
Last smile of soldiers tortured by an oath

Intone a song to the promised day
Path to nothingness, aware of nothingnessn

Day aged on wasted fields and idle thoughts
When we all shall be united by the void
Away from remorse, temptation and deceit
We intone a song to our procrastinated end

Intone a song to the promised day
Path to nothingness, aware of nothingness


So we too, Lord
Had to endured the slavery of Israel

The threat of a whipping voice
At home, under the Egyptian yoke

The surveillance of undeserving eyes
And the indifference of passer-bys

Torrents of envy and retribution
Had brought us to the wealthiest land

Along passageways gilded
With Pharaohs that never were

We suffered the stiffness of thorny trees
Our skin was cut, our fingers broken

Under the weight of stealthy hammers
With the solace of the night

When the shadows of eternity
Make of all men and women one

How often our pounding heart
Sigh for that happy promised day

Of open-jaw seas and thriving deserts
No hour passed without longing

For your redention, our liberation
From exile, agony and distress

No day without pondering
The anguish of the runaways

How often did we think you had forgotten us,
Turning your face away from us

Leaving a sorrow in our hearts
A grief in our souls, day and night

For without taste for gold or silver
We worked in the temple of Mammon

Beyond the window

Gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam

The branches of the birches swing
They talk to heaven, ”they thank
The rain that dashes on the grass"

The chirping of variegated birds
Appeases this restless retirement
From the daily clamours of the clay

A universe is pleasant when we let
The sap and the harmony of survival
Flow freely through our veins

After each withdrawal life sprouts
Like a fountain fostered by the poles
Earth that clothes itself in green

Existence is a fragile gem, and yet you live
Call, then, death once you experience death
Before it is but the late transition of a wink

Uplifting beauty that permeates
Everything and everywhere
The Ganges and the slums of Newark

The sun pities embraces and rejection
From the nerves of the first leaf
To the exalted beatings of the whales

Today the sky is grey, ”beyond, behold, it's blue,
Creation lurks behind further creation
The resoursefulness and means of this eternal Being


Separation was the curse we had to endure
An element that Atahualpa could not grasp
At its locus fortune's advocates remain
While seeing unseen a mass of women and men spin

We memorize names against our desire
Celebrities: we imitate in vain  their distaste
Happy those who scorn wealth and its beauty
(Guanenta was excluded from the orb
All civilizations, even ours, then, will fade away)

Mothers force us to defeat in life
Our struggle then, is survival, rather than a lasting woe,
Agonies? They are just what we are: mouths
That repeat the illness they had once endured

For we are finite and infinite whirlwinds
That turn happiness into grief at will
Disdaining languages, victimizing evil
We pretend to deride comfort and selfish love


This, my home, I can not recognise
The fury of ambitious men
Snag its colours from my eyes
My arms -how strong
Have become arms in alien land
Exiled from those, my forgotten toying days

Fountain of live

Ma ci sono fonti--qualcuno tra noi certo pens'o,-che, appena se ne beve, accrescono la sete, anzich'e placarla
Calvino, Storia dell'ingrato punito

The fountain of live flows abroad through laugh, parturition and shame.

Those erudite men preside the feeble truth that wills what rhetoricians sacrifice: egotism, the major torture of communists and popes. Love is secretly fostered until Jealousy outbursts. Remember Ciceron's tongueless head: for you (that's to say, for I) your most powerful masters are impaled. Narciso spurs loafers and artists alike. A progeny jails Eve; feel her tireless womb.  Your solitary hike guests unbounded states

The fountain of live flows abroad through laugh, parturition and shame

Second Choral Song for the Promised Day

We sing a choral song to the promised day
Ductile happiness that generations changed

Down the coldest rivers of the North,
Under the densest forests of the south
Beyond the summits that conceal the end
From the clamour of slaughtered men

We sing a choral song to the promised day
Ductile happiness that generations changed

Uttering prayers in non-hidden tones
Relinquishing identity and its crumbling end
Multiplicity of beings, diversity of the self
Hope and reward of future
restless days

We sing a choral song to the promised day
Ductile happiness that generations changed

Great men

I lie whole
On a whole world I cannot touch
Sylvia Plath

Great men find solace in another day
Their hours are severe; their pay deferred
They run noble lives in muddy streams
Oppressed by commitments and contempt

Opening scarves in order to heal wounds
Claiming misery, boasting common joy
Battling their flesh, appeasing callous thoughts
They are heralds of almighty gods

Voices inspired by non-material voices
Fed by the blood and curse of motherhood
Great men are simply righteous men
For no wisdom can ever overcome the fair

Slaves and masters of the proud
They clutch the truth of a forgotten word
Sicken logs, damned navigators
Who cure the nausea of trembling times
Rewriters of the past, disdainers of decay
Seditious  lovers of all women and men
Souls that solace in a promised day,
Announced first on the shores of Nazareth


Blinded by the fog of lofty cliffs,
We consecrate all our lives to fame,

A newly-forged warlike lie for peace
Mirage that my trembling fate denied

I had prevailed over so many deaths
And yet, I resembled the form of any other man

The sordid images I see at night
Were vehicles along a pebbled path

The peacock that flied out of my hands
The children that cried for their safe return

The earth that shook a California shore
Friends stranded by the colours of the Hindustan

The mud which was mine, my sons, my name
The lovers that I could not completely love

Simon of the Desert

Through a brief span of life
You made, Simon of the Desert
Of every day a promised day

A sicken man over the hills
At the top of centuries to come
In a lengthy post remains

Your deeds will be remembered
By those impatient to succeed
Ashes stiffened by the vagueness of the earth


From man to beast,
From town to trial
From peaks to brooks,
From fast to insomnia
From thought to quarrel,
From ecstasy to void
From anguish to resurrection,
From women to tenderness,
From claim to more and less
We build and settle our world
Wastefulness loaded with defiance
Clash proclaimed by never-lasting joy

Third Choral Song for the Promised Day

We quietly pray for our promised day

The calmest night has ended
And we return once again to our carcass
Torpid bulk of fragile nerves

We quietly pray for our promised day

When will the haze descend on us?
On year is enough to know the world
We vainly seek another summer's treat

We quietly pray for our promised day

If we are just fair feeling and
Why do we tremble day and night?
Our craving are too high, our means so scant

We quietly pray for our promised day

We are not selfish, but blind heroes

For we defeat daily death and hunger
Without truly valuing sacrifice

We quietly pray for our promised day


From lonely days in crowded cities
I tell you that it is never late, my dear friend

Never late to be happy with a piece of bread
Sheltered in a rented room under the storm

It is never late to stand the deepest wound
Casting previous insults to the flames

Never late to write that untold past
Of pointless journeys on a motorway

It is never late to enjoy a peace of mind
With our eyes, our hearts and our loins behind

Never late to reject what they have told us
To understand that laugh is but a mask

I was born in your early youth, in 1953
And I have been hardened by defeat

And if you haven't forgive a broken love
It's never late, my friend, to help your nearest foe

Hugo Santander Ferreira © First Film Productions 2011