The Epic poem of the Darkness (73). Without teaching I don't get school

I compare myself as
asleep margins wakened up by the sea sleepless
High the moonlight wanting to deceive the sea
Close the breeze of the night reveals the shadows
of the growth of mangroves in the marginal vegetation

After a distressing and long absence
I stare myself for far away from the torments per moments
Undecided, lost, that the love doesn't see
We ran crazy some against the other ones
we diverted the encounter of our eyes
We didn't get hug each other during one moment
and we promised that we would be slave of the new gentlemen

I get tired so much of these princes and princesses
so distant and so close
always with the same flagged star, deceiving
Everything so close, so distant

With petroleum and diamonds in excess
I prepare the escape
The return of the failure, of the ecumenical economy
When they steal… it is to the million
IMF supports, he reminds that the actual, world
democracy is demoniac. Great invention, that of the democracy
for us to continue us enslave her
subtlety

To the beaches of the brace of the boats of the ignominy
More forced return for the settlers that wait for me
besides Azores
Lost in the tides black oils company
without diamonds
Of the forces, forks policemen, military and politics of the despair
of the chronics mortal epidemics

He ran in the day drowned by the rain, he wandered
for not wetting the hair
For not appearing with my undone femininity
As it is beautiful to love my wet hair

When the war began… it began there is millenniums
It began with the men and it will put an end to them
It is not significant to think that the wars will end
because the men still didn't end
But it is significant to think that the love
he will put an end to the wars

I forgot that I am African, I am a so-and-so, he begs mundane
I saved a white of the death, it was ready to immolate
Pus my body to her front, later sang me a song
to despise me

And many secrets got lost
in the Westerner civilization they burned
I returned to the slavery, without books in the hand

It is her body that governs, it dominates the world. They don't use the mind
I am not producing, I am hunter predator
I dialogue without thinking
The merrymaking of my mind is an immense noisy disco
rusty
In the buildings that we inherited of the settlers, they relive
They live in the Gothic fluorescent imagination of the past
I always walk to seek and I always meet in the same place
I don't get to leave, because I don't have money for anything to acquire
Alive in the dimension of the air, while they let to breathe me
And in the pot of imported can I don't find anything to feed
Without teaching I don't get school

Image: Angola em fotos