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.

segunda-feira, 16 de novembro de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (64). Phillis Wheatley

The longing hurts, it is a wound when reminding the value of a friend's friendship
A hunter of slaves deprived her of the freedom with only eight years
They forced her to not to pick more mangos, pineapples, bananas
the savages' fruits

She lost forever the interior, the secrets of her Mother's sorcery
the African jungle. It embarked orphan in the mother slaver
Oh! Don't do me badly! I never again promise to flee of the Whites

I won't arise more to the backs of the palm trees. No more I will refresh
I will satiate in the water of the coconuts. Because no more I will see them, I will eat
My parents, siblings, friends will remember. The tides in the sands won't hug
The morning is so enclosed, shaded unreal
He stripped to greet me. I see the prow of the slaver
That me have-of taking, to slide. No there is, I don't see, nobody doesn't come
To lean on, to help to save
The margin stands back, I think she sends me a smile

We are already far. He didn't know that the sea was like this big
so immense. Fortunately the slaver he is not afraid of him
they seem friends so. He should have a lot of hands that hold him
Or else he sank. I am afraid of this greatness and I burst into tears
The slaves' trafficker screams me. His voice is so potent
that the ocean shakes. "Ó spice, collects you in the cubicle! "
It recorded in the memory the furrows of the prow slaver that it broke eagerly
the marine currents. The rioted vacancies accompanied the hurry

Of the arrival without a destination. Of so far known
she docked in Boston, a New ignored World
Some of the modern slavers that redo the route
before African, take oath with fright
that they saw a ghost ship, flying Wheatley
A rich merchant bought her, she presented it as maid for her wife
You of the slaves could never know

That it mattered, she bought a poetess, a condor
The plantations of the illusions enslave us, as crowds
You gave him to study geography, history and Latin. If all studied…
To the thirteen years it demonstrated famous poetry

With twenty years in England published her
Exotic African with scale in the New World
Phillis Wheatley ended in the law of the jungle. Thirty and one years of Christianized fervour
Far away from the silent heat, of the caresser breeze, tender savage
Of the rivers swallowed by the valleys of the black poetry. Extinguished, unknown
Live in his black heart, known in their thoughts
Of very clear and intense movements


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