Very notable aptitude that Jingola has for the poetry, as a misfortune collective. In the moulded walk, distanced, I hear them lively of enlarged yawns, pompous.
- Do they already run profits in your book of poems?!
- They still didn't supply recruiters.
- It turns you easy, it eulogizes the facts of the Politburo.
- I supervised four hundred poems, don't get to deceive them, to publish them.
- I also agonized more than thousand, poetry of the combats… I don't know if you are to see!
- Hum, hum!
- If it publishes a poetry book, I will be electing of Handwriting Politburo's Academy. The young’s will satiate with lewdness, me same. I will be flattered, admired, envied by my friends. In the churches they will peal bells, because one gave birth to a great writer change. I will make a heraldic important person. My literary name will be recorded in the toponymy. The street where I was born will call herself Collapses the Poet.
- Ah! … The poets such different healthy Jingola, as indifferent daggers.
- I disagree! Our poetry is celebrated in the imported daggers, spit, frustrated of corruption. Braked but combative, we delayed convincing. It didn't still set sail for there of the Columns of Hercules, because in the lack time of cleaning the accumulated blood in the night of the real times.
- Of the feet to the head, victorious poetry and concordant defeats.
- Until seeing!
- To firm foot!
- He leaves a debated gloss, declaimed, my vainglorious steed librarian's.
The black gives hope dismounts
She blunts first legs fresh infinite
Illuminated for whitening accent
Of his bikini heartless, armed and equipped
Heated, transparent of having sweated
Look! She executes anxious around
Maybe that somebody amazed to it undermines her
Be delighted, peep her
Nothing happens. They got tired, they were disordered
In the habitual amnesia lacunar, to stab
Fugitives, outlawed of the Black it Gives hope.
Image: Angola em fotos