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, 24 de novembro de 2009

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (72). The sewers don't channel, they build the incipient democracy

They guarantee me that the war is necessary
and that the man is necessary for her
so that there is violence in the words
War!.. In my Africa (?) of the smuggling of weapons
And of the champions of the corrupt power
and for life

As rocks standing back of the moonlight before the storm
And the fire of the stove possessing
the liquid coffeepot before the ebullition
The heavy bale in the light ant before the hunger
of the Winters without life
The vigorous sun playing with the leaves of the trees
before the burning
Black that left of they be men
pursued by the sleep of the dawns
Always walking before the sun to be born

The hillside letting to roll the stone
before the plane soil
The noise of falling of the rain in frying of the potatoes
before drag

The sewers don't channel, they build the incipient democracy
Yes! The air free from the sewers, drains the democratic flow
in the upstarts' refulgent wealth
of the petroleum, of the luminescent diamond
Incomparable wealth in the miserable poverty
My feet of the hunger don't walk, they crawl
as the serpents that bewitch
In the rails of the roads sinuous, impetuous
they sink the auriferous rivers, oilfields, diamonds-producing
In the weak points of the rich heels
It remains me the royalty of the torments
of the laments timeless
so much wealth to my turn
in this city without revolt
See! The poverty stopped being

In this sea immense, deep, with shallow people
Small, superficial with powerful means
immense and deep, they throw intense excrements
in the muddy and infertile seas
While the straw hat that hides the head
of the hot and stubborn sun
He meets casually the coach with the wood wheels
in the road full of stones creaking
The almost asleep seating man
he whips the horse
that indifferent it drags everything this
proceeding in the indifferent road
Lost in the darkness, in the sleepy solitude of my soul

They discovered me in the Mountains of the Moon
In the hill Kilimanjaro, in the Lake Victoria, Tanganyika
and my bikini
Before them, I spent vacation there with my friends
Now I am afraid of the sea
they are sharks in their altars of the holocausts
In the pedestals, convicts' crowds and hungry persons
they suffer the democratic dictators' horrors without democracy
night and day

Image: Angola em fotos

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