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.

terça-feira, 27 de outubro de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (49)

Alienated, mice of the garbage work Uncover containers, they open sacks with garbage in the hope of they find dainty. But he doesn't give for the petroleum. A grace, innocent floral talent of the first steps corals of the evangelical spirit, distrusts for a mouse:
- Of where come?
The mouse looks at her, it considers her fairy of the garbage cans. He dips the hands and almost the head in the container. He doesn't have anything to say, he doesn't know what is to live. The answer can only be given as the life of the garbage.
- Sanded, badly sanded!
A cat feels offended for the verticality of the stride of the mouse. The cats are eminent competitive disloyal. The feline stands back of her alimentary habit, he gives some jumps and other safe garbage to the view. Two politicized children and continually educated of the last year they satirize:
- Against millions of hungry persons nobody combat.
- That is good! Reason?
- Because defeated, it is very costly to feed them.

The coming worms of the garbage invaded back yards. They sought better road for us to spoil at the houses. The sewers and stopped waters originate the incipient democracy. Democracy forced in the illusion of the words of the freedom, because the starving ones in the prisons of the hunger don't feed of the epidemics of the political ideologies. And the black plague, partly, as all know did the feudal system to tumble.
It is not possible the human being to love, because it destroys the love!
The dark waters of the putrefaction habituate the people to the darkness. And of the window always to the peep, a good observer always note something that takes advantage. The cars were made for they walk, and in the highways they are continually stop her. Progress is the time of the life to pass in the seats of the cars.

High sea, as if the world went water. Where he wants him to look see everything liquidate. That immensity in my smallness. I feel microscopic before so much vastness. The powerful waves make freedom. But, I am apprehensive, this is not life for me. I will relax my companions near, to hear what talk. The sea for them is as if he was an old friend. They are children of him. I think Ulysses is the with subterfuges, always.
-… With a good shepherd and obedient sheep…
- Without leaders?
- Mentor… if the such masses are intelligent, thinking, they know the Road, the politicians end.
- He leaves of having left political.
- Exactly.
- Putting an end to them, they finish them equip.
- As in the soccer.
- Not! The people can kick the comfortable ball, be round or square.
- Preferably square, round any plays.

The sea doesn't get tired of waving. He was born like this, he lives, it is happy endless, it is jasmine. I am to let to take me for firm earth, to recall the misfortune, the uncertainty of the Man of the bombs. Man, the stupidest invention than the Nature created, the monster, the predator, the damned Man that in conflict with the fellow creature, break lances for, it throws him bombs. And they are born blessed in the sunroofs of God.
Churches don't lack. Maybe be superior in number to mice, to cockroaches and garbage’s that command the daily activity of the Jingola of the hunger oil company. In front of holes garbage and sewers a church exists. And their liturgical songs reinforce the millennia: "Jesus, my life is pieces of your spilled blood”.

Image: Angola em fotos

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