In Angola they feel prisoners political accused of any crime. They say that it is a democratic regime that it is in the middle of the joy of their functions. The democratic potencies close the eyes and they point that it is like this that it is good, that it is like this that it is made the stability in Africa. Here is the income of the terrorism of which Europe is not gotten to loosen. Who supports the corruption and their dictatorships, in the bottom it is also terrorist without the knowledge.

quinta-feira, 31 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (87). Me, the President chose myself, I imposed myself to govern


For the world peace to stabilize, the empires should teach
to use our participating administration

The electronics files where they stay
the words, the secret passes of the easy fortunes
In this Angola that is not mine who enriches it steals
and to steal is so easy
It is enough to belong or to become friends to the family in the power
And they are born condominiums, they break the domains
of the cottages
The bonus of the businesses, ignominies is received
Lament a lot, but I think I should not be despised

For here it doesn't exist safe, everything is insecure
When my President speaks to the nation, it seems that it is in UN
With very educated words, it exhorts our culture
the lack of culture of the hunger omits her.
Ah! The hunger, that is of the competence of the international agencies
Me, the President chose myself, I imposed myself to govern
To receive the high individualities that they land in our palaces
And to speak… and to speak that inside of next years, always the same ones
we will struggle, we will make any thing
Fearless and it doesn't calm the epidemic of the hunger ballasts, he extends as the deserts

So fragile it seems my body in the fortress of my beauty

The sea curled in symphony
With the black clouds of IMF seeming rain
The nature moved around. He ordered the preparations
the desire among so many already comes absentees
See you later, until tomorrow among liquors
that they get lost for a thread

The damned human destroys the marine food
The marines, sailors in earth seek the human life for feeding
The starving fins for they are not extinguished
If some thing in my house come to enter, it is right that will assault me

My laundress life didn't end
So much clothes that I took, washed, and the sun didn't dry
I should walk half-naked, nude for a foreigner to date
If some food home wants to take
I am not a prostitute, I am a submarine that uses to ballast
My ghastly silence is an act electoral, of the situation

I don't know what don't want
I dressed a hipper mini-skirt adventurer, bivalve border
A friend prevented the incautious ones and he wrote in my bifurcation:
"Danger! High tension! AIDS! Any one is to sit down in my electric chair”

The formation easiest of the profitable slavery: to carry in the trigger

Ah! That now in this other power liberator of you black
I dispute the vultures a string of food

quarta-feira, 30 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (86). For this and the other Western hypocrisy


I already announced that I want to rent my heart
the tenants will pay the income with love
in my eternal home, and they won't rob me
They will pay the income of my heart on time

Our madness everything squeezes, it empties our bodies
as fabled monsters in real jungles

Who does the one know what is right or wrong?
Because they don't leave me to moisten in my to drizzle?

We are small, big actors
in the plot of this endless film

I am delighted to walk in the made holes in walks
gutted for the mires always flooded
Our rulers without itineraries move in the wheels
of the cyclonic winds, moving the bad weather for another broken
His exhibitionism is the corruption of the intelligence
There is no separation of races because in the sprees
all are same
The cynicism and the hypocrisy are the barbarism of the human survival
democrats enter leave right ultra
The solidarity among us?!
We are still to learn with the mice
the cultural politics

Our wars of liberation oil company and diamonds-producing
And in the watered forests of petroleum
the bugs stopped singing
They are hunted for the hunger to mitigate

I will always hear my sweet angel voice in the sky
I am very far and however so close to your hearts
No, I didn't give up so early unhappy! How difficult it is to believe!
With so much love that I didn't have and now I have in the sky
what never had in the earth

My tears are not of despair
they are of ancestral hate subdued still
for this and the other Western hypocrisy

I thought to hear the angels' voices in the sky
they call it me for under the earth
Difficultly I always tried to walk on top of her
It is easily got forever in her under to be
In the eternal peace that they didn't know how to give me

Accompany me as if it was my last party
We will arrive to the eternal home that on this day I found
They will feel my last smiles
because I took revenge of the life with the death

Don't complain, your day won't delay!

Image: Angola em fotos

segunda-feira, 28 de dezembro de 2009

The bombs


The human being doesn't have any purpose or usefulness in the human genesis. He is the weed of the Nature. Very special they are the real estate speculators that they transform us in dogs. We didn't live in her cities, but in concrete kennels. They are bombs, they are terrorists of the properties and nobody dares to put behind bares.

See what did with the democracy. The capitalists altered her, they adulterated her. Only the millionaire capitalists are eminent democratic. Today the democracy is as the religion. It is a flock of ready slaves for the immolation in the cliff. The democracies manufacture the terrorism and later they live panicky.

There are always daily documentaries. I don't know so that it is the servitude of any world event, this to be commented on obligatorily by the foretelling Pope of Vatican. More seems a sport commentator. And how it is easy to deceive the masses yes and no Catholic, guaranteeing that the youth Susanna Maiolo that attacked suffers him of mental disturbances. Reason to hide the truth? What did really happen she? What bitterness does live that woman? What atrocities did do him?

Image: http://olhares.aeiou.pt /

quinta-feira, 24 de dezembro de 2009

It was a very funny kingdom. A story of Christmas


To Patrícia Martinelli
It was a very funny kingdom, he had a lot of petroleum but he didn't have anything. It was a very funny kingdom, he had many diamonds but he didn't have anything. It was a very funny kingdom, he had a gigantic dam but he didn't have light. It was a very funny kingdom, he had many rivers but he didn't have water. Then the one what did that kingdom have?! Was a very unfortunate kingdom, did he have many idiots in the power.

The governess he got tired atypical and he apologized, especially Energy Jingola's Ministry that always guaranteed the same thing, always the same state of siege: "That the public illumination got better. New central in the capital they generate energy without cuts. And that they are to be created conditions to improve the supply of energy to the capital of Jingola. And plus, that the supply of energy in the festival block is guaranteed. And they remind that at that time of the festival block, the Ministry creates, all of the years, a special program of attendance and prevention in the area of the distribution of energy for if they avoid cuts and other anomalies to disturb the normal operation of energy."

Strange to these spells, the aunt Lwena, the aunt Marta and the aunt Emília denounces a time his personal newspaper of news. They are in the entrance of his building sat down. The aunt Emília is with her thermal box in the sale of gaseous. She and Marta change dollars and they sell cards of cellular phones recharge. Lwena attends them in the conversations. They are very religious, very superstitious, and very fanatic. They are as in a temple of Christ sounded out of tune in the time. The aunt Lwena begins the last of his newspaper:

- The South Africans were there in the company, it was everything well. Suddenly they appeared the Portuguese, they seem that they are as the ghosts, they appear as well as of the anything. They deceived my son with the gifts of Christmas. Did they only leave them whiskeys, those drunk that burn, to see sister, is not?!
Emília assents with sadness. She has studies, until she already worked many years in a drugstore. Also give clues on medicines. She got tired because the wage that usufruct didn't give for the gas of the kitchen. It is revolted in his misfortune companion's defence:

- It is the elementary colonialist nostalgia, revanchist of the people that unhappily if it turned in the most unfortunate of Europe. Those Portuguese also sister… it is everything good, where they arrive is everything very rotten, they destroy everything.
Marta is not very condescending, actually she is aggressive. Devout face but when she enervate likes of exhibition. And it reinforces their sisters:

- He is really truth sisters, and then where there is wine does a lot of confusion. They are very late. They had not developed a lot. When they annoy I am going to shoot me them hills of stones in his snouts. He will arrive the moment in that those that govern us and more those foreigners will pay us for all of the evils that do us. That is the sign of the end of the times. Sisters, if they look well for the sky already some are noticed signs of the arrival of the Mister. Them that take care, but it is not fast because they won't survive, it is already too late. Hum! Do sisters, know that more? The best?

- Doesn't it pour, does it count there, is the something? - They were anxious the two.
- Then our kingdom also… it only guarantees us water, it shines and protection policeman once a year. But what kingdom shit is this?! Should it be one of those parallel universes what my son told me that he saw of the film of BBC. Then only we did exist once a year? Only in the festival block and in the other days… anything. It is really pure Africanize. If the light lacks it is well done. Also as weak as is. This of we be African tow ends when?! Every time worse!
- It pours, don't curse, or else it will destroy our festival block. He doesn't give to do blasphemies because the demonic now walks a lot… it is always attentive. Oh my God, I feel that will be without light and without water! God was to devastate this whole shit. But it won't be long, fast this shit will end. - She admitted with conviction the aunt Lwena.

Emília gathers about the usual darkness that invades of readiness the capital of the kingdom Jingola.
Sisters, there in some streets they are there are four days without light. They already got tired of digging in the walks, in the streets… it is everything crack as in Iraq. They continue in the searches of the mishap, where the cable is destroyed. They say that it can be long hours, days, weeks, until they solve that mystery of the electric cable.
As it is 24, previous day of Christmas, the aunts arrange their fishing nets and they steer to their houses, wanting how it is obviate the reverses good-parties. And the habitual lament of the whole Jingola: “we struggled for something! Jingola is again in the foreigners' hands!

25, Christmas. Everything is in a good one. In some homes gush the ostentation of the spoliation oil-producing and too much wealth Jingolas. In these there are never problems… for the time being. In the almost totality the poor homes Jingolas gush of the afflicted poverty. These are not entitled. You Jingolas they lied us with the freedom and they force us to an indescribable slavery before the gibe of the foreign packs.

Then it happened: even on that moment in that all are of duty to attack them eat and you drink that they invade tables and glasses. Tombs, the light left and soon afterwards the water. Then the believers aunts meet as one of those specialty committees, of emergency for us to analyze the situation. The aunt Lwena, feverous believer is the first in the manifestation:
- Aiuééééé!!! Sisters, sisters, sisters! It is the sign… he arrived!
- Him who?! - does he Get mixed up Marta.
- The God, because who more it had to be?!
Emília corroborates them and she throws them finally the saint blessing of the arrival of the God to the Earth to redeem the alive ones and to judge the deads.
- Sisters, already know how it is!
- Do we know more the something?! - did they Join Marta and Lwena in chorus.
- To throw everything out, including our money, because this is the last sign of the arrival of God. Let us save in the sisters… and be like this.
- Ámen! - They were sentenced.

Image: http://olhares.aeiou.pt/no_bosque_foto3203676.html

quarta-feira, 23 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (85). We insisted in the businesses that the wind takes


A government of the marathons and for the marathons
that he insists to drink the alcohol no original of our origins and of our destinies

We insisted in the businesses that the wind takes
and in the vocation of the innate parties to burn the time that in the surplus in surplus
The hypocrisy is the satisfaction of the accomplished duty
To sow injustices is to pick revolts
Even if our government makes some work for some African to see
we will put an end to her
If we had the atomic bomb would be nicknamed "the Continent of the ashtray radioactive"
If the drink went books I would be very educated
Even in the international contests of drunk alcoholic we are discriminated
because beforehand all know that we are winner
And in this battle there is no Waterloo

I am not exhausts
but constrained of not running for the sand of the beaches
forbidden
An instant changes a lot, a lot of thing

The statues of my breasts erects, modelled
as aphrodisiac fruit in the avidity of the fright of the pleasure
in the wait of the alimentary the life
and deify me again
without corruption nor fall
of the actual government
something very easy
I am a goddess fabled lover, wanted by all the gods
and before the reality of these things without world

Ó embarkations of the clandestine emigration
take me and that it arrives lives to the tragic-marine borders
of the new colonization

The building where I still get to live, they remain some foundations
fortunately! I prefer the dry grass of the pitched freedom
I commit my African fall
abysmal
When signing contracts of any species
national or international… for something!? If later they are forgotten,
torn, abandoned in the garbage cans disproportionate, guideless,
it is for that that my people are staunch defender of the delinquency
How many more laws, more disorders
Best will be law not to exist, because the disorder is organized
properly institutionalized

Oh! of me if it gets to develop my intelligence
To be educated, there they arrive me the ancestral sacraments:
She will wash the silly, the clothes and to sweep the ground
then he cooks funji with okras, jimboa and roasted cacusso
He brings the jindungo watered with the drink of our thunderstorm
tropical storm
Soon afterwards we will wake up the shadow of the secular baobab"

We struggled, we suffered, we lived, we died
Without money. He is with them and those
of the oil companies

Rarely for love. If it didn't exist today, tomorrow?!

Image: http://i.pbase.com/o6/

segunda-feira, 21 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (84). To govern is easy, ask the vultures


See what did me and they didn't keep
The sounds that now hear from the nude feet and extended hands
My name is for sale that lost feeling
As a small window, that not even that already have
And my name was the future… after the year 2000
My future, my clock stopped, no longer it is used
in the programs turned without computer
Nor I began, I stopped, awaiting the hour,
delay to speak
I lost the escalade of the veil that leads me to the sky

We are together, so close and however so distant
As orphan children's tears
As everything that is beautiful and always ephemeral

To govern is easy, ask the vultures
When two men don't understand each other, the money is wrong
I have to hurry, I will turn over the garbage of the hope
Without her, of finding what remains of my name
I sit down, I feel tired

Everything that be built, destroyed will be
in the cynicism of the African hypocrisy
where daily everything becomes worse
He falls to the pieces, without earthquakes
The human volcanoes burn Africans
Everything is recorded, it falls day after other day
Without schools, without appropriate teaching
My brain is atrophied
It is for that that they say is "the late Continent"
The human History is the history of the daggers
If the soccer fields cultivated earth
we would have abundance of food
Followers of the soccer, modern slavery

I don't get to affirm me awaiting the prophet
The tears jump in my face when I think
The animals are anxious while God extends their hands
To a seating love in the margin of the a thousand rivers

I saw the mother give his baby to flee of the hunger
The sea trying to jump over mountains flooding inhuman
returning to the beginnings
The lost human beings in the concrete jungle
Chained, happy caught in the traps in the bestiality
forever eternal

The baby forever abandoned smiling
for the hostile world
I saw many us forever compliant, accomplices in the misfortune
I saw the silences of each instant in our glance of every day
As wild dogs in the uncertain escape for a place
I tried to fall asleep in the discouragement tomorrow of the mammy
To confirm the adventure, to continue in the misfortune
in this Angolan bread always orphan

Image: http://www.skyscrapercity.com/showthread.php?t=471629&page=4

Angola, the largest swindle of all of the times

Angola doesn't have electric energy. Angola is in the chaos economic and social. Governed by half dozen of colonialists is an oasis for the oil companies. They spoil, they decimate for the hunger the populations. It is not by chance that the oil companies and the banks have colossal profits, hidden treasures. And it is this the Marxism-Leninism.

terça-feira, 15 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (83). Because my petroleum and diamonds were, they don't already here remain, they are a lot besides the sea



The upstarts' agitation in the hunt copper-covered without pause
they don't leave that we rest, of turning over the intact
Nor you remain, you break, nor protests
That we are blessed with notable smell in uproar
Give to the new gentlemen, what belongs to them
The submission of the illiterate ones is belongs of the slaves

I dance and I don't find the centre of my Universe
Millenniums are passed in my face
Of twitching, of screeching of teeth
of snarling eternal

I usually have the pretension of saying everything
To the imposed silence of everyday
That they are born and they hide my mask
chosen of my heart without delight
Quickly to see it destroyed
my country, Angola

The highways and the convoys are our distraction. They feed a lot of loads and few discharges. Metal groups that circulate loaded to the sea. Petroleum, copper, zinc, gold, uranium, diamonds… many rare metals. Then they export us, they prepare us. They allow observing us those goods - to photograph them no because the Marxist-Leninist god is always present - that impede our sustenance. He deposed the Marxist-Leninist ones abandon us offer us the abundance of the black hunger. Angola, Ethiopia, Liberia, Sudan, and many more…

The economic displeasure, the corruption, the outrage
I lost the countless times in that I was freed
for soldier-dictators

Where I will go, I don't know, they stole me the
cottage
and the orchids of the gardens
Without perfume, with sourness, where I will go
I don't know
Remember me, I walk thereabout to the search
Of some honest ruler. Say that it never again ends
my torment
I scream in the deepest forest virgin
say, seek our ancestral God
If they find him in the sacred circles
when they dare to go to the deep of the sacred forest
Remember me, don't fear, there I will be

They swallow me a ship without slaves
without presents and without eternal presidents

I try to recompose the lost wreckage
of the boats that stagnate in my eyes
Walking, the ocean of my tears
Always in the longest search than I promised
to return and to remind of the twenty of the beach of Jamestown

He begs in the nude street without mirror to aim at me
Tell me struggle again
and to finish off, and to kill
I lost them the will, no longer I love them
I hate them
Because my petroleum and diamonds
they were, they don't already here remain
they are a lot besides the sea

Image: http://www.skyscrapercity.com/showthread.php?t=471629&page=4

domingo, 13 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (82). It is not the armament that wins a battle, it is the human mill


Handcuffed cruelty transported in these other ships of stormy seaquakes. Of the vile government that sucks everything that is dollars for them. And for the population the abandonment. Before the silence and the cynicism of the Western democracy. That they send their banks for us to decimate us. They don't know that they promote the world hungry persons' terrorism and more theses places. And however Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan cheer up against the blockade of this Western terrorism.

They despise me far away from the luxury of his living rooms, in auctions, where they admire, they savour, and they buy my womb, my breasts… and the exhibition of my nakedness

Millions of brothers and sisters there were without right to ticket of passage, and so many and so much didn't pass in the Passage
The merchants before the pressure of the abolition of the meat for vultures and sharks, defend that this affect her sustenance and the one of their families

I was very concerned with 1880 to 1914. They forced me to sign protection treaties with machine guns in the hand. There was not anything that it was not enclosed. The Whites were well received, they rewarded us with her powerful grapeshot

I jumped of the morning and the day saw me. He finished very fast
I just sleep to forget, to deceive the hunger that devastates me
I want that the nights end fast
to get one to live more day
Of a dream outraged without final
To live is not a dream
it is a nightmare
a curve without final
in the brutal life
I cannot sell the whistle of the wind
I am as that stopped, undecided
almost as a statuette
of ivory

We are crowds of static statues
without infinite, without perception of the distant future
Of the thoughtful sadness of the nightmare that doesn't abandon me
In the morning awake and other nightmare waits for me
The nightmare of the day by day
of the bayonets

Three conditions define the human being
In foot, seating, and lying in the eternal

I helped the Zulu. We defeated English and Afrikaners
Then we were due, humiliated, due to the thunders
To the storms of the powerful weapons
It is not the armament that wins a battle, it is the human mill

It was happy before them arrive. He was in the paradise
he didn't worry anything about the food
There was her to the kicks. Mangos, bananas, pineapples
lobsters, skunks, a lot of fish market

They leaned me to the wall of the racial discrimination
They glued me a paper that identified
Black without paradise in the lost earth
Just obtaining the copyright
of being quiet
The missionaries faced the secular silence
of the divine kindness. Of the little to do, of the animal denial
irrational

I exist invisible, without statistics
I am a negative zero

Image: http://www.skyscrapercity.com/showthread.php?t=471629&page=4

sexta-feira, 11 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (77A). Aminetu Haidar


I don't know what democracy is
can anybody become trained?
Maybe the Occident
or the East
No! Only the Occident
the only that he understands
that until he gives democracy courses
and of demagogy

Per times I get confused so much
But, because only the Whites
they have democracy
and the other people
tyranny, merchandise and spice?

They move me, so potent
burning in their convictions
I believe that will let to die
in her house, in Europe
I consider that that is pure terrorism
and a great attack to the life
of the human rights (?)

Everything doesn't pass of papers
in the garbage of the History

I am deigns, I struggle for my rights
for my Freedom!
Europe is not free
it is reservoir of dogs
she abandons me as a dog
Europe is a dog

I leave my last appeal
to the trees, mountains
forests, rivers and storms
That they join
and drop you

He spoke like this to Aminetu Haidar

quinta-feira, 10 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (81). I Yellow brownish dying equal to the corrupt ones and speculators



The sun as a gigantic moved away curtain
he entered of outburst in the city
The plants begged him more water
He worried, it heated
In vain in the heads in Indians lines
buckets emptiness, supplicants in dripping
overbearing of the special guards
and presidential
before the next to drizzle

The salt was worth my weight in gold
The king of Ghana got rich as the currents
because of his gold.
These are real and marginal that enrich
the petroleum

They conquered me in the first European adventure
They inaugurated the slaves' traffic, gold, and ivory
They were flotation grocery stores with slaves from Senegal and Guinea
It is later in the Golf of Guinea.
It collects cloth and weapons of Europe
The king of Congo let to take for the Christianity
And the snakes and the chameleons ignored my sorceries

The silence nocturnal invades the city
with clouds of shots before the storm
Here and there roars are foreseen
The violence of the silence invaded the city

In a retreat of the clinic the daughter struggled with the mother's life
The daughter with the life in the hands
The lying mother in the hands of the life
The work struggled sharp in the hands
Made clamour, projects late branches
The mother seemed, a beauty of the eternal perished

The city dried off and she got rich
of powder
I yellow dying brownish
equal to the corrupt ones and speculators
stupors. To the real estate scarecrows
The rain arrived; he brought many buckets and brooms
It rained a lot of cleaning. The green hope was reborn
Of tingling of the people with and without a destination
repainting the millenarian picture of the divine hunger

Rediscovered America demanded slaves to Europe
Caribbean planted in the plantations and dived in the pearls
Indians mined in the gold mines and silver to the exhaustion of the death
Changes, substituted by the African resistance
Of the magnanimity colonial, original Portuguese and Spanish trade
The profit, the only attractive aspect of the disorderly human competed
They still today didn't gorge the safes of the world accumulation
Of the Dutchmen, Swedish, Danishes, Germans, French, and English
They fortified Occidental Africa
The fable of my slavery lucrative vein with the intolerant cooperation
Of the avidity and connivance of Africans
that they give us to the foreigners
as slave labour
to pay the palatial luxuries of their presidential guards
and governments of faking

Always more in front, always more in front, it was the sugarcane
and the clove plantations


quarta-feira, 9 de dezembro de 2009

Luanda, Marxism-Leninism forward!

He sees her sharply where more this African fishing net is going with constant electric power cuts.

December 08, 2009 from 18.15 to 21.20

December 09, 2009 from 08.08 to 12.50

Live the return of the Marxism-Leninism!

terça-feira, 8 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (80). And in three parallel universes. Empire, to can, poverty


The life only has sense
If we get to live her
I need kisses in my womb and in my breasts
in the silence of the agitated nights

I aspirated to be educated and good professional. He wanted to live in peace
it is not political… it is a facto
On these camouflaged times I observe a great merit
The lie of the racial harmony
economic and social
The extermination of Nation Angola's people
of this Nation

They came of so far, they passed for here
and here they were
When he leaves of living I hope to leave something
That my permanence was not in vain
It was happiness to leave my gratitude

In this Angola
the ones that struggle for the survival succumb
The one that govern stay
The deads are going increasing… they never decrease
genetically not vulgar

So many lost times in the search of God
And He is in our brain, in the thought, in our mind
I crawl in three dimensions. To be, to be, to be
And in three parallel universes. Empire, to can, poverty
The History is the inspiration of the idiots to the power
or the hungry persons' crowds that aspirate to eat
When the democracies don't work
the ends attack and they take the power

They see each other many cars with decorations
the one of the power belongs one to them
I never saw so many idiots in the power

The rain already Benguela arrived
it will rain in Huambo
The children will play a lot of times in the lakes of the rain
The children will be seafaring
they navigate it in the lakes without life

I tried to dive in the abyss of the night
Of the almost fifty years of power
And I saw Angola devastated of corpses
of the orgiastic dictatorship
He remained the distant softness of the music
The more he approached
plus she stood back

The music as virgin woman
learning the roads without love

The soft butterfly ephemeral spread their wings
he flew, he landed in the monitor
She opened forever their wings
agglutinated in the hands of the Programmer of the Universe

Image: Angola em fotos


segunda-feira, 7 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (79). They are not urban legends, it is the king's reality, of the crooked real boss


I listen everyday the alienation of the government:
“Our petroleum and diamonds"
We struggled against the Western colonialism
Now we struggled against the Angolan colonialism
I repeat them! Don't kill because they will also be died!

In the church without manna asked me to offer them
a car of passengers, that later God would feel everything
Them for us to drink, them for they undress and they dress

I leaned my beauty in the shoulder of the soft tree
As a very tired traveller
perspiring the African heat
of the burning oppressor
I lied down looking at the sky
I fell asleep and I woke up before the moon to say good-bye

My country was independent
Before he lived with a white, later we married
Only the names that called me!

When the thought is inconvenient
the doors of the censorship and of the racism they open up
We shot the books for the garbage alleging that they were obliging
of the imperialism and of the capitalism
they didn't serve the communism
We walked, we walked and no we stopped
we tried the literacy, we fell in the solitude

I am somewhere at the country of the nowhere
They tell me that I am as the flies
to survive
As the remains of the food that send me
I am the people that voted for in the continuation
in the forgetfulness of the slavery

I don't know nor I can guess
My goddess doesn't wake up
of the mirror without image
I will listen her voice again
Deeply
handcuffed in the margin of the green grass
of the river with fish oil tanker
and in the surface of the water of the sea

The ruins of the military confrontations
they were to the thousands
We struggled to raise, to rebuild
we continued without getting
We got lost in the time of the ideologies
We led in the exams of the democracies
They are not urban legends, it is the reality
of the king, of the crooked real boss

Image: Angola em fotos

sexta-feira, 4 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (78). A country of soccer players, full of feet, emptiness of heads


I look at the summit and I see higher
a sky, a mountain that everyday
I want to reach
Then I feel that I am not still capable
when will I be it?
I need the balance, the harmony of the tolerance
and an infinity of affections.
How to seek
the justness in the human beings and difficultly to find
Perverse in the black night, more and more distorted

I leave the underdevelopment building footballs stadiums
A country is made with books, with footballs no
A country of football players, full of feet, emptiness of heads
The ball is round, the minds square, obtuse
They lean walls in my brain to block their functions
They inject me contradicted information
factiousness
for he moves to the opposite

The explosions of the musical grenades, of the parties, merrymakings of the deafness neuronic and pathological
Idiots of closed minds that they never open up
The sorcery expands, it is imposed
command. It is another training
in another kingdom
I carried and I unloaded a lot of salt to Europe
and a lot of freedom for some, little, insignificant for none’s
That it arrived of the Russians and Cuban communism for more some years
now tracked by the FAMILY
Portuguese, Brazilian and Chinese

The jasmines are a group of thoughts
Several perfumed harmonies of future
They are streets lost by the balance of our misunderstanding
Without balance we didn't reach our amen
When I look at the jasmines remember the virginity of the fields
Of the free earth and pacifier that spoil me under the feet

Following the law of the survival, I remembered, I am predator
Before they called me my beautiful seraph
My worst enemies are the ones that govern me

In this portion of the Black Continent
The colonialism and the slavery continue
in the different colour
The hell of the men's cruelty is same
The colour changed the colonialists no
Fear to walk in the streets, my Angola
he treats me as criminal
I practice my self-destruction
I addicted me in throwing buckets of polluted waters

He approaches Christmas of the dark nights, of the days without hope
Of the families, of the mothers far away from their orphan children
Correspondents for the biblical skies
for the flood of the weapons later silent (?)
That they try to shoot love and peace
In the parents' temptation that they forgive to their children
Of the present promises to the lonely hearts
Still no conquered in unexpected encounters

Of the fogs of the fogs of my tears
That has-of transforming in river
so that more east Christmas is not dry

And as the best than we have
we know is to continue, to destroy
it only remains us devastating, tumbling
of our mental ruins

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (77). Revolution of continuous discontinued




In the beginning they continue to become trained
that the world is very beautiful
Everything full of flowers. And that it is so beautiful to love in the world
That we deserved to be happy and that for that owed
To be sincere as the pure water
just when we drank her and we satiated the thirst

Later we learned that there is no understanding
because no we respected the divine heart (they say)
The bitterness, betrayals, hates, disgraces, unhappiness, and cruelties
and the hypocrisy
Rottenness of societies and ascensions
of dictators of fast destruction
Don't demonstrate me the maze of the happiness
And I am very thankful for everything that they didn't teach me

To write is to communicate what cannot be said
it doesn't interest to the rulers nor a little
if we are alive or died
The important is travel and we know the time
of the existence in this democratic circus
in the fair of the I owe and I don't pay
It is gets rich like this. To live to die, to live to steal
without exhaustion
In the wait of the death, because it is the illusion of the life
Per times I get to pass for another dimension.
It is there don't see the things as they were, but as they are.

I was born in sad Africa, or sad African
I avoid to meet, I flee of me
I sleep without dreaming
Until the nightmares they abandoned me
Dream of open eyes and I see thousands of ships
Crowds in the beaches that pursue me
and I hide in what remains of the civilization

I try smoothly to feel the sensation
Of this deep darkness
After the dramatic battles of every minute
for not shortening my life
In the many years of the crooked deals of the war
Because the purposes of my paradoxical existence
they will never be reminded

In the edge sand dune, real garbage can of inhuman bodies
I am as the clowns, river, I make to laugh
inside of me I am sad
I Laugh to hide my sadness
I am entitled of the imposition
of being quiet
The days precede me in the mist of the nights
Black darkness of the lost times
never recovered
I fear that has to leave for far
since here I don't see anybody for close

Revolution of continuous discontinued
In the he is hit of the spree are three days to sleep
some don't wake up
It was the colonialism, to follow liberators they came
Then the neo-colonialism. What will the one be is proceeded?!
In Black Africa, cradle and grave of the inhumanity

And the Angolan and international scum
he continues in the population unpunished spoliation
Always with Western support

But, because this riots delay?!

Image: Angola em fotos

quarta-feira, 2 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (76). These liberators began and they still didn't finish


To the that died with the wars and they took
they kept
they hide their silences in the graves

I made a lot of promises in the summit of Kilimanjaro
I looked for very far and I got confused
Enclosed for the lost savannah of green
he just remained the halo
of the dictatorships
as a star without shine
Very far, very far
of the promises that did me
That everything would be wonderful
But everything continues very far away from the high of the hill
Of the stubborn promises no happened
I see figures and images without body
that I didn't dream. I continue very far away from the theatrical close

I travel a lot in the recently opulence of the slavers caves of the ships
He heard the touching wrap salty of the agitated water
now I am in the darkness of the earth
until her they return me to spoil
in the return of the atonement
of the crimes of the government

We didn't build, we destroyed nations
We promised, we were, no Africans, then didn't pass
Glorious appreciated extinguishing of the fire
Liberator, oppressor that we ballasted, and we don't know more
we cannot control her
We appreciated the lust of the brilliant automobile
of the fact and western tie. We make internal many speeches
and the Nation moves forward with tenuous lost words
In the wind desolator, in the incommensurable personal purposes
of the African boss
People are only one person. People, object use, of personal extent.

Ignored by the settlers that today
subtlety are our great friends
In the years of the wait that are always many
that God wants first and we waited
He promises Ramos balsamic of the eucalyptus
in the related to kaffirs earth formerly mapped
Of the friendship no rewarded is difficult to return behind
As they are difficult and complicated these days

In the markets it is bought, he sells himself poverty
To live and to suffer, I build my prostitution
the easy life, of the difficult existence.
Nude bodies, in the environmental dew.
Everything that is matter has limits

Windy storms

They force me to do many children, in the inglorious hope
that some arrives to president, or I supply
I don't get to revert my colonized mind
lost. I lost my cultural identity
I smile my anguish in the magical company of the sewers
Until the beaches they stole me, Africa privatized

These liberators began and they still didn't finish

Image: Angola em fotos

terça-feira, 1 de dezembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (75). As it can a slave to be freed, in the illiterate freedom


To middle of the morning you served me cacusso
(Cacusso, fish very appreciated in Angola)
that he still lived, roast in the agitated delicacy of the coal in ember
we looked at each other deeply, a lot for besides our souls
Oh!.. as later you went so delicious
When I received your lips and I spoiled
the home of your heart

The wars work on time entirely
in the morning… in the daytime and at night
It was in an of those periods that I lost forever
the taste of loving
The war of the false liberators
They murdered your love in Dondo
(Dondo, place to north of Luanda, Angola)
I still protected time to see you, while you lived
in the lightning’s of the shelled thunderstorm
They diffused the military divisions of the division of the Nation
Then they impeded me of returning
of looking you for the last time
I know that you stopped existing forever in a catacomb
crater
In an opening of called earth my love of Ndalatando
(Ndalatando, place to north of Luanda, Angola)
Our gladiators they destroyed, they were destroyed
And they called themselves of liberation movements
They walked in Santo Graal's search
finally they found it
Hidden in the petroleum, in the shine of the diamonds
and in the special spices
Of the emeralds of our bodies precious goods
that they sold and they resold in the cycle infernal sway
of the carnal ships
They didn't care with the corporal export
of my beautiful body, attractive and sensual
so natural, fleshy of pulp growth of mangroves

Who invented the human being
he left him with several short circuits

The slave never forgets the loved person
it is loving as a slave
Without never to wait a smile and to trust
in the eternal wait of an affection
A kiss in the waves of my body
without looking for your eyes
Conserving the suffering of the tears
when obedient I follow your steps
always united in my intimate sand dune

My destiny is the piece-remaining
I listen the celestial voices of my lost song in the forest charms
My simplicity and humility continue touching
To be or not to be, here is the subject?! Pure and joyful mistake
To have or not to have the imperfection here is!
of my Taj Mahal under each tree a temple
without kingdom, expatriated

The time of the temple of this other colonialism is a web
and in her I continue entangled
Yes! The time is a temple, my clock stopped
no longer I know what are hours
Because you delay Freedom?!
He captures of Sacred Trinity

As it can a slave to be freed, in the illiterate freedom

Image: Angola em fotos

sábado, 28 de novembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (74). You don't kill for you be not died!


I don't give up the misfortune while the poverty exists
I am in the penitence, in the black existence of the zenith
No there is nobody to be disposed to struggle
and only to think that always somebody exists
illuminated
He will exist always somebody that in the display
the alarm clock
He will always exist an Old World

The New World, already ancestral discovered
With the desire to end, to alienate our race
he came true
Soon we will pass to extinct zoological grocery store
To it films of dinosaurs and pterodactyls
It was like this with the American Indians
with all
An extermination democratic spirit elect
because imperfect
The black gold is very valuable. Me gold of black no
They did with that my sorceries lost the power,
a sorcery atomic dethroned me

I am beautiful as flora out
And that it is ordained forever
The beautiful women, his beauty will be forever
Planted in the Universal garden
in the irrigated of the polar dawn

In spite of everything the soft marine breeze
he hovers under my look
And per times the mountains I think human
Who would say that in the great trips?
we seemed more human
Who would say that the human beings
they get lost in the adventure
Who would say that of the endless dialogues?
we became inhuman, savages, sweet and bitter
Who would say that cannot survive?
without insomnias
Who would say that of the grown up final
winegrower would be a sweet memory

The acme, the luxury of the Old World he argued
He didn't understand the recent civilization, new of the New World
The medieval time destroyed the traces
of the old civilizations, and the man learned strongly
to cultivate the mortal instinct
Of tearing, to destroy the people that lived in harmony with the Nature
The shouting scared the life of the seas, of the rivers, of the mountains, of the forests:
"Where is the gold!?.. Where is the gold!? "
The innocence of the humus in the earth kept him

The thousands of human corpses that didn't attribute value to the metal of the discord were martyred and abandoned in the earth virgin, unsatisfied.
The Nature began the gigantic revolt that it lasts long; it will last long, until turning off the incandescent human's torch.

Don't kill for you be not died!

Image: Angola em fotos

quinta-feira, 26 de novembro de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (73). Without teaching I don't get school


I compare myself as
asleep margins wakened up by the sea sleepless
High the moonlight wanting to deceive the sea
Close the breeze of the night reveals the shadows
of the growth of mangroves in the marginal vegetation

After a distressing and long absence
I stare myself for far away from the torments per moments
Undecided, lost, that the love doesn't see
We ran crazy some against the other ones
we diverted the encounter of our eyes
We didn't get hug each other during one moment
and we promised that we would be slave of the new gentlemen

I get tired so much of these princes and princesses
so distant and so close
always with the same flagged star, deceiving
Everything so close, so distant

With petroleum and diamonds in excess
I prepare the escape
The return of the failure, of the ecumenical economy
When they steal… it is to the million
IMF supports, he reminds that the actual, world
democracy is demoniac. Great invention, that of the democracy
for us to continue us enslave her
subtlety

To the beaches of the brace of the boats of the ignominy
More forced return for the settlers that wait for me
besides Azores
Lost in the tides black oils company
without diamonds
Of the forces, forks policemen, military and politics of the despair
of the chronics mortal epidemics

He ran in the day drowned by the rain, he wandered
for not wetting the hair
For not appearing with my undone femininity
As it is beautiful to love my wet hair

When the war began… it began there is millenniums
It began with the men and it will put an end to them
It is not significant to think that the wars will end
because the men still didn't end
But it is significant to think that the love
he will put an end to the wars

I forgot that I am African, I am a so-and-so, he begs mundane
I saved a white of the death, it was ready to immolate
Pus my body to her front, later sang me a song
to despise me

And many secrets got lost
in the Westerner civilization they burned
I returned to the slavery, without books in the hand

It is her body that governs, it dominates the world. They don't use the mind
I am not producing, I am hunter predator
I dialogue without thinking
The merrymaking of my mind is an immense noisy disco
rusty
In the buildings that we inherited of the settlers, they relive
They live in the Gothic fluorescent imagination of the past
I always walk to seek and I always meet in the same place
I don't get to leave, because I don't have money for anything to acquire
Alive in the dimension of the air, while they let to breathe me
And in the pot of imported can I don't find anything to feed
Without teaching I don't get school

Image: Angola em fotos

terça-feira, 24 de novembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (72). The sewers don't channel, they build the incipient democracy


They guarantee me that the war is necessary
and that the man is necessary for her
so that there is violence in the words
War!.. In my Africa (?) of the smuggling of weapons
And of the champions of the corrupt power
and for life

As rocks standing back of the moonlight before the storm
And the fire of the stove possessing
the liquid coffeepot before the ebullition
The heavy bale in the light ant before the hunger
of the Winters without life
The vigorous sun playing with the leaves of the trees
before the burning
Black that left of they be men
pursued by the sleep of the dawns
Always walking before the sun to be born

The hillside letting to roll the stone
before the plane soil
The noise of falling of the rain in frying of the potatoes
before drag

The sewers don't channel, they build the incipient democracy
Yes! The air free from the sewers, drains the democratic flow
in the upstarts' refulgent wealth
of the petroleum, of the luminescent diamond
Incomparable wealth in the miserable poverty
My feet of the hunger don't walk, they crawl
as the serpents that bewitch
In the rails of the roads sinuous, impetuous
they sink the auriferous rivers, oilfields, diamonds-producing
In the weak points of the rich heels
It remains me the royalty of the torments
of the laments timeless
so much wealth to my turn
in this city without revolt
See! The poverty stopped being
sadness

In this sea immense, deep, with shallow people
Small, superficial with powerful means
immense and deep, they throw intense excrements
in the muddy and infertile seas
While the straw hat that hides the head
of the hot and stubborn sun
He meets casually the coach with the wood wheels
in the road full of stones creaking
The almost asleep seating man
he whips the horse
that indifferent it drags everything this
proceeding in the indifferent road
Lost in the darkness, in the sleepy solitude of my soul

They discovered me in the Mountains of the Moon
In the hill Kilimanjaro, in the Lake Victoria, Tanganyika
and my bikini
Before them, I spent vacation there with my friends
Now I am afraid of the sea
they are sharks in their altars of the holocausts
In the pedestals, convicts' crowds and hungry persons
they suffer the democratic dictators' horrors without democracy
night and day

Image: Angola em fotos

segunda-feira, 23 de novembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (71). To carry in the trigger is easy, to carry in the mind is difficult


They came to discover the wealth, the smell of the life of the soil
After Gondwanaland fallen rain
And of my scream of victory of the eagle
When hovering in the heights, to go down and to hunt the prey
without bitterness
In the sound of the silence of the water of the river
shaded for the greens, billowing foliages
of the birds, in the ships nidification. Then he deforested

El Che arrived
He lied me, it didn't free me
My friend countess of Mount Christ taught me
He uses Mona Lisa's smile and wait until you get to recover
everything that they harass us and they spoil
in this incomparable black terror
The banks
They steal, they steal us, and they assault us. We were invisible, transparent
A thing is impossible steal us… the hunger

He was lying on top of the weekend
In the beach my body enjoys the sand
too attractive, hot of the sun that felt
A stranger pulse to run for the transparency of the water
I dove quickly, diving more and more
It was ready of the bottom when I opened the eyes
avid of children that didn't see the future
in the Angolan concentration camps
I sat down in the sea bottom forever
To think that it is in the silences undulating
That they are born the reflections
I lost the courage of returning to the surface

I am pure and limpid as the night. Her beauty pursues me
with the aroma of my vanity
I speak, I order to the forests that dance
My histories arrive of the sky
I don't need to improve my beauty
Nor my aspect, taste of my dark eyes
I am beautiful as the night
I walk in the sea, of the wavy planted vegetation
The mountains, the hills, the fields, obey my desires
To the road without eternal love of my lost paradise
The treasures of the life that steal me
they deposit us in his banks
The lost glory never turns
It is buried at the museums
of the superior orders

We feared ourselves, we avoided ourselves
as if we were murderous
I travel in the time of the disagreement
The physics laws disturb me
I sleep to the edge of the electrocution
In the extemporaneous luminous signs
of the tomorrow because I don't get to jump
to come unfastened of this dimension. I extend the arms
I close the eyes
in the direction of the most visible port of the space
There always it begins and it finishes my dialogue
Come my treasures of the jungle, follow me! Follow me!
Let us remember the enigma of the chimney
of the ruins of our civilization in Zimbabwe

To carry in the trigger is easy, to carry in the mind is difficult
When I walk, I like to give, to feel to jump my breasts,
To loosen them to the salutary, healthy solar return

Image: Angola em fotos

domingo, 22 de novembro de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (70). In the finite bank terror of the numbers without universe


I am not independent, I emphasize my personality
I didn't accomplish this dream… I continue very unhappy

My dissatisfaction because I will never be happy
They prohibited me of admiring the grandiose works of art
That similar humans produced
In spite that am a masterpiece
They don't let to transmit me my feelings
Everything that I feel and leaning, perpetuity’s ocean
A beauty of immensities, an import of without serenities

A tenuous beauty demonstration, a fleeting display of humanity
Of which the human being seems to scare
And does it only demonstrate her when he sees destruction?!
There his life is protected
in that unknown link
The brilliant idea woke up me the cruelty
of the Westerner atomic civilization
The independence of the liberators arrived
black
With new promises, new settlers

The trumpets play, they alter the peacefulness
The dictators will eat their words
and during millenniums they will be hated
The mediocres ones they will go with them
with or without four stations

I am not brilliant, I just seek the Road
of the independence that they spoiled me
nor in the streets I can sell
to survive
because soon they loosen the dogs
all want to bite

Of my misfortune, the petroleum is black
The sun he is reflected in the white skin
In mine it is absorbed
In the morning I am blue of the sky,
in the afternoon it yellows of the sun
At night I am chocolate Jasmine of the Night

Something as fundamental as the love
That he appears so distant, distant
As per times I think my despair
So much cruelty did me
and they do. They undo me

I don't believe in anything!!!

Nobody doesn't appear on whom believes
Only dictators and corrupt chosen in the false elections
that the Occident imposes me
I believe in me as a divine being
I seek the support, the exit of the despair
of the torture of the words
of my intellectual brothers (!)

Of the tortures, dizziness of my heart
Somebody on whom trusts with all my forces
To believe, to trust, to love nobody
That it is always for close and tell me:
He lifts you and bed that I aid you
In the infinite of the skies and of the times

In the finite bank terror of the numbers without universe

Image: Angola em fotos

sábado, 21 de novembro de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (69). The dictator complicates what is so easy



I recognized you fugitive of the window of the airplane
stealthy. In an endless African afternoon
always too pale, without serenity
consumed, with a lot of tropical rain
Always in the dream that ran for you
and in the we hugged each others
In we looked at each other during almost fifty years
of the History that pursues us

Of the sweet stabbed tenderness
While the rain forced our fragility
Because the Universe left
it is just
A man and a woman faking love
I woke up, I lost you forever
It is for that that I travel in the hope
Of meeting to the window
of a stealthy airplane

My birthplace was my world
I remember to feel her force
when he walked in his fertile ground
Now I have been loaded, perfumed, thrown to the filthy
Of the generations without life
of the Angolan dictatorship
of her petroleum
of their diamonds
of the soccer and of the real stadiums
inflammables, infamous

It was amusing, without currents, arrested in the traffic of the streams
And of their celestial gardens that they taught me to be woman
Divine as a symphony
in the celestial grass
They told me that the Nature was a picture, a painting
executed by my ancestors
That they came of very far

And that the babes were breastfeed of the sap of the flowers
They said of them that were other fragile paintings
Other creatures, other flowers in the celestial garden forever forbidden
of they be picked

That it was as soon as everything began in our World
The rivers were serpents and the sun invited them to meditate in the life
Everything continued like this until that a dictator sold us
he sold
The sunbeams that shone in the transparent stones
I lost the present and I mortgaged my future

He sat down dawning in the high of the Young man's hill
And he hoped the sun captured me
In bass the people bloomed in the morning transparency
Moving for the sadness of the infinite to extend supplicant
Of the hands, of the body in the mendicant solution
Without direction, without visual universe
That here lies in the presidential palace
of him, of them

My everyday one finished
It was a group of permanent memories
He is emperor, king, and our president
certainly of Shaka descending Zulu
In another civil war always living
Despairing that the mandate messianic architectural
without presidential elections
Last long in the coming generations, perpetuated

To govern is an art, the idiots don't think so
With the heads of such distant rural picks
As a difficult sensibility, where it doesn't drift her
To drive is so soft, simple

The dictator complicates what is so easy

Image: Angola em fotos

sexta-feira, 20 de novembro de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (68). Of the silent breeze of the flower of Diana



On this side of this lake I am
in the anxiety of the fish without water
His sorrow swimed in the cold night, I lament him crying
Because they don't clean me my sea of tears?!

My black love changed me for a white one
for other love
I await exhausts that Job rewards me
That I will hear the angels in the sky to sing
That I will be a lot close to them as those
That they believed in me and they escaped from the contempt
As they will make all the ones that waited the end of the slavery
That he appears, it perishes, it seems
that only after the death

That sad end to believe always in the men's invention
A not! They are many disguised wolves
But is where you? Because you don't give me a hope?
A tenuous memory is enough to dare to be happy
The truth is as the remains of a mirror
That it remained of building, and they taught like this us
to give up, to destroy
We only recognized ourselves when we are front of their ruins

The life is a fort disturbance alcoholic longing
She flees covered with an awning of the soft and abrupt thick fog of the palmar (population inside of a palm tree) *
Where the alcohols pursue our existence
The steams are intense, pleasant projects
If we got to wake up, enraged and frustrated stunned
In the invasion of the torpor, of the cry. Mediocre, soon I exist!
Of the universal victory: drunks of everyone, I united you!

The prow of the fog doesn't break up, they resume the clouds neurons
of the existence, of the anguish as vehicles in the city without light
With just their lights been dazzling in movement
As jasmines yellowish trying to meet again the lost sap
of the life
Hidden shadows of the lost nights
There are no days, just monumental static statues without dawning
In the empty glances, swollen of the lost silence somewhere
This is the sea, ours to navigate of the alcoholic oil tankers

As the difficulty of obtaining the simplicity
Of the silent breeze of the flower of Diana
Abandoned nature to the forest fires
Green-ash without undulation, in the sleepy sun of the endless days

Rejuvenating to age, to be born to resume
to die without transforming what surrounds us
Arrested in the colour of our pain

Heavy palm tree leaves bent by the green of the pain
And the time is not eternal
In the tragedy of the night I asked God to be inspired
But, glance? Yes! The house walls have fissures
Through where my freedom
it can peep

* in dictionary HOUAISS
Image: Angola em fotos