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
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