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.

quarta-feira, 9 de setembro de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (19)

"Then my youth as it is that it is going the life in our Luanda-Somalia? Do the police continue to steal the things? " "No my kota, (older) the police are to steal the women. The police killed the whole thieves there in my neighbourhood. Now already it can one to walk comfortable to the nineteen hours.

- They install apparels of air conditioned potent, the cables burn, they set on fire, they are without light. They insist, the electric’s cables of the street, the fuses, the houses burn, and they still insist
- They say that the fault belongs to the government.
Residents in panic win wings, they fly, they cover with earth in the safety of the street. They complain:
- My fan is to burn.
- My equipment left.
- My glacier burned.
- My DVD, finishing of buying…
- It had lied, you stole him!
- And does you, make the something?
- Ó race, is to flee, the building seems that will explode.

They hope the firemen arrive, they get be unblocked of the traffic and little or nothing will remain. When they arrive, and the water that they bring to end, cannot make anything else, because there is no mouth-of-fire. If they existed, of them he would not leave water. In spite of two mouth-of-fires institutionalized: On a side the government's hell, of the other the hell of the opposition. There are many fires due to short circuits. Postpartum Jingola are excellent engineer’s electricians.

My progress is curtained by eddies of tobacco. Somebody caught fire the a lot of garbage in the attempt of eliminating. Inside of little time the roundness will be swallowed by the fog dustman. The lonely zungueira (street salesperson) guides the meat in the solidary bathtub. She expels the flies, that don't get tired of doing zigzags. Somebody is not satisfied with that and with her.
- That meat is rotten, destroyed. You buy it in the grocery stores of the sênê (of Senegal) for low price, they wash it with a lot of detergent, they put him a lot of salt, and they sell her as if it was sparks.
- Ah!.. You want to complicate with me, to destroy my business.
The radio accompanies them, propaganda relating to several years whistles. Princely cooked, habitual.
- We will create group of settlers and we bought the surplus of the production, later we stored at silos, for the crisis times.
With well-aimed, cunning conviction, as angel of the announcement that paragon.
- The prices of the Petroleum arise a lot. That is good for us.
And very bad for us. - They pealed the bells of the empty barns.

The stubborn shower unloaded several families. Purged of the goods, they implored Almighty that repaired the escapes of the waters of the pipes, where God inhabits. They shouted for terrestrial help, of the Government of the earth. The expectation attenuated with the recommendation that for the time being was not possible to do anything, because grievous situations existed.
The earthy leader solemnly unmasks to the uncovered faces the memory of the flood.
- Last year sumptuous eucalyptus bloomed here. A providential dike, that it held, it deviated, it chained the current of the waters. Without appeal they pulled us, of their meats they posted business. They lit coal for us to cook and for us to sell.


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