The Epic Poem of the Darkness (87). Me, the President chose myself, I imposed myself to govern

For the world peace to stabilize, the empires should teach

to use our participating administration

The electronics files where they stay

the words, the secret passes of the easy fortunes

In this Angola that is not mine who enriches it steals

and to steal is so easy

It is enough to belong or to become friends to the family in the power

And they are born condominiums, they break the domains

of the cottages

The bonus of the businesses, ignominies is received

Lament a lot, but I think I should not be despised

For here it doesn't exist safe, everything is insecure

When my President speaks to the nation, it seems that it is in UN

With very educated words, it exhorts our culture

the lack of culture of the hunger omits her.

Ah! The hunger, that is of the competence of the international agencies

Me, the President chose myself, I imposed myself to govern

To receive the high individualities that they land in our palaces

And to speak… and to speak that inside of next years, always the same ones

we will struggle, we will make any thing

Fearless and it doesn't calm the epidemic of the hunger ballasts, he extends as the deserts

So fragile it seems my body in the fortress of my beauty

The sea curled in symphony

With the black clouds of IMF seeming rain

The nature moved around. He ordered the preparations

the desire among so many already comes absentees

See you later, until tomorrow among liquors

that they get lost for a thread

The damned human destroys the marine food

The marines, sailors in earth seek the human life for feeding

The starving fins for they are not extinguished

If some thing in my house come to enter, it is right that will assault me

My laundress life didn't end

So much clothes that I took, washed, and the sun didn't dry

I should walk half-naked, nude for a foreigner to date

If some food home wants to take

I am not a prostitute, I am a submarine that uses to ballast

My ghastly silence is an act electoral, of the situation

I don't know what don't want

I dressed a hipper mini-skirt adventurer, bivalve border

A friend prevented the incautious ones and he wrote in my bifurcation:

"Danger! High tension! AIDS! Any one is to sit down in my electric chair”

The formation easiest of the profitable slavery: to carry in the trigger

Ah! That now in this other power liberator of you black

I dispute the vultures a string of food

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (86). For this and the other Western hypocrisy

I already announced that I want to rent my heart

the tenants will pay the income with love

in my eternal home, and they won't rob me

They will pay the income of my heart on time

Our madness everything squeezes, it empties our bodies

as fabled monsters in real jungles

Who does the one know what is right or wrong?

Because they don't leave me to moisten in my to drizzle?

We are small, big actors

in the plot of this endless film

I am delighted to walk in the made holes in walks

gutted for the mires always flooded

Our rulers without itineraries move in the wheels

of the cyclonic winds, moving the bad weather for another broken

His exhibitionism is the corruption of the intelligence

There is no separation of races because in the sprees

all are same

The cynicism and the hypocrisy are the barbarism of the human survival

democrats enter leave right ultra

The solidarity among us?!

We are still to learn with the mice

the cultural politics

Our wars of liberation oil company and diamonds-producing

And in the watered forests of petroleum

the bugs stopped singing

They are hunted for the hunger to mitigate

I will always hear my sweet angel voice in the sky

I am very far and however so close to your hearts

No, I didn't give up so early unhappy! How difficult it is to believe!

With so much love that I didn't have and now I have in the sky

what never had in the earth

My tears are not of despair

they are of ancestral hate subdued still

for this and the other Western hypocrisy

I thought to hear the angels' voices in the sky

they call it me for under the earth

Difficultly I always tried to walk on top of her

It is easily got forever in her under to be

In the eternal peace that they didn't know how to give me

Accompany me as if it was my last party

We will arrive to the eternal home that on this day I found

They will feel my last smiles

because I took revenge of the life with the death

Don't complain, your day won't delay!

Image: Angola em fotos

The bombs

The human being doesn't have any purpose or usefulness in the human genesis. He is the weed of the Nature. Very special they are the real estate speculators that they transform us in dogs. We didn't live in her cities, but in concrete kennels. They are bombs, they are terrorists of the properties and nobody dares to put behind bares.

See what did with the democracy. The capitalists altered her, they adulterated her. Only the millionaire capitalists are eminent democratic. Today the democracy is as the religion. It is a flock of ready slaves for the immolation in the cliff. The democracies manufacture the terrorism and later they live panicky.

There are always daily documentaries. I don't know so that it is the servitude of any world event, this to be commented on obligatorily by the foretelling Pope of Vatican. More seems a sport commentator. And how it is easy to deceive the masses yes and no Catholic, guaranteeing that the youth Susanna Maiolo that attacked suffers him of mental disturbances. Reason to hide the truth? What did really happen she? What bitterness does live that woman? What atrocities did do him?

Image: http://olhares.aeiou.pt /

It was a very funny kingdom. A story of Christmas

To Patrícia Martinelli

It was a very funny kingdom, he had a lot of petroleum but he didn't have anything. It was a very funny kingdom, he had many diamonds but he didn't have anything. It was a very funny kingdom, he had a gigantic dam but he didn't have light. It was a very funny kingdom, he had many rivers but he didn't have water. Then the one what did that kingdom have?! Was a very unfortunate kingdom, did he have many idiots in the power.

The governess he got tired atypical and he apologized, especially Energy Jingola's Ministry that always guaranteed the same thing, always the same state of siege: "That the public illumination got better. New central in the capital they generate energy without cuts. And that they are to be created conditions to improve the supply of energy to the capital of Jingola. And plus, that the supply of energy in the festival block is guaranteed. And they remind that at that time of the festival block, the Ministry creates, all of the years, a special program of attendance and prevention in the area of the distribution of energy for if they avoid cuts and other anomalies to disturb the normal operation of energy."

Strange to these spells, the aunt Lwena, the aunt Marta and the aunt Emília denounces a time his personal newspaper of news. They are in the entrance of his building sat down. The aunt Emília is with her thermal box in the sale of gaseous. She and Marta change dollars and they sell cards of cellular phones recharge. Lwena attends them in the conversations. They are very religious, very superstitious, and very fanatic. They are as in a temple of Christ sounded out of tune in the time. The aunt Lwena begins the last of his newspaper:

- The South Africans were there in the company, it was everything well. Suddenly they appeared the Portuguese, they seem that they are as the ghosts, they appear as well as of the anything. They deceived my son with the gifts of Christmas. Did they only leave them whiskeys, those drunk that burn, to see sister, is not?!

Emília assents with sadness. She has studies, until she already worked many years in a drugstore. Also give clues on medicines. She got tired because the wage that usufruct didn't give for the gas of the kitchen. It is revolted in his misfortune companion's defence:

- It is the elementary colonialist nostalgia, revanchist of the people that unhappily if it turned in the most unfortunate of Europe. Those Portuguese also sister… it is everything good, where they arrive is everything very rotten, they destroy everything.

Marta is not very condescending, actually she is aggressive. Devout face but when she enervate likes of exhibition. And it reinforces their sisters:

- He is really truth sisters, and then where there is wine does a lot of confusion. They are very late. They had not developed a lot. When they annoy I am going to shoot me them hills of stones in his snouts. He will arrive the moment in that those that govern us and more those foreigners will pay us for all of the evils that do us. That is the sign of the end of the times. Sisters, if they look well for the sky already some are noticed signs of the arrival of the Mister. Them that take care, but it is not fast because they won't survive, it is already too late. Hum! Do sisters, know that more? The best?

- Doesn't it pour, does it count there, is the something? - They were anxious the two.

- Then our kingdom also… it only guarantees us water, it shines and protection policeman once a year. But what kingdom shit is this?! Should it be one of those parallel universes what my son told me that he saw of the film of BBC. Then only we did exist once a year? Only in the festival block and in the other days… anything. It is really pure Africanize. If the light lacks it is well done. Also as weak as is. This of we be African tow ends when?! Every time worse!

- It pours, don't curse, or else it will destroy our festival block. He doesn't give to do blasphemies because the demonic now walks a lot… it is always attentive. Oh my God, I feel that will be without light and without water! God was to devastate this whole shit. But it won't be long, fast this shit will end. - She admitted with conviction the aunt Lwena.

Emília gathers about the usual darkness that invades of readiness the capital of the kingdom Jingola.

Sisters, there in some streets they are there are four days without light. They already got tired of digging in the walks, in the streets… it is everything crack as in Iraq. They continue in the searches of the mishap, where the cable is destroyed. They say that it can be long hours, days, weeks, until they solve that mystery of the electric cable.

As it is 24, previous day of Christmas, the aunts arrange their fishing nets and they steer to their houses, wanting how it is obviate the reverses good-parties. And the habitual lament of the whole Jingola: “we struggled for something! Jingola is again in the foreigners' hands!

25, Christmas. Everything is in a good one. In some homes gush the ostentation of the spoliation oil-producing and too much wealth Jingolas. In these there are never problems… for the time being. In the almost totality the poor homes Jingolas gush of the afflicted poverty. These are not entitled. You Jingolas they lied us with the freedom and they force us to an indescribable slavery before the gibe of the foreign packs.

Then it happened: even on that moment in that all are of duty to attack them eat and you drink that they invade tables and glasses. Tombs, the light left and soon afterwards the water. Then the believers aunts meet as one of those specialty committees, of emergency for us to analyze the situation. The aunt Lwena, feverous believer is the first in the manifestation:

- Aiuééééé!!! Sisters, sisters, sisters! It is the sign… he arrived!

- Him who?! - does he Get mixed up Marta.

- The God, because who more it had to be?!

Emília corroborates them and she throws them finally the saint blessing of the arrival of the God to the Earth to redeem the alive ones and to judge the deads.

- Sisters, already know how it is!

- Do we know more the something?! - did they Join Marta and Lwena in chorus.

- To throw everything out, including our money, because this is the last sign of the arrival of God. Let us save in the sisters… and be like this.

- Ámen! - They were sentenced.

Image: http://olhares.aeiou.pt/no_bosque_foto3203676.html

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (85). We insisted in the businesses that the wind takes

A government of the marathons and for the marathons

that he insists to drink the alcohol no original of our origins and of our destinies

We insisted in the businesses that the wind takes

and in the vocation of the innate parties to burn the time that in the surplus in surplus

The hypocrisy is the satisfaction of the accomplished duty

To sow injustices is to pick revolts

Even if our government makes some work for some African to see

we will put an end to her

If we had the atomic bomb would be nicknamed "the Continent of the ashtray radioactive"

If the drink went books I would be very educated

Even in the international contests of drunk alcoholic we are discriminated

because beforehand all know that we are winner

And in this battle there is no Waterloo

I am not exhausts

but constrained of not running for the sand of the beaches

forbidden

An instant changes a lot, a lot of thing

The statues of my breasts erects, modelled

as aphrodisiac fruit in the avidity of the fright of the pleasure

in the wait of the alimentary the life

and deify me again

without corruption nor fall

of the actual government

something very easy

I am a goddess fabled lover, wanted by all the gods

and before the reality of these things without world

Ó embarkations of the clandestine emigration

take me and that it arrives lives to the tragic-marine borders

of the new colonization

The building where I still get to live, they remain some foundations

fortunately! I prefer the dry grass of the pitched freedom

I commit my African fall

abysmal

When signing contracts of any species

national or international… for something!? If later they are forgotten,

torn, abandoned in the garbage cans disproportionate, guideless,

it is for that that my people are staunch defender of the delinquency

How many more laws, more disorders

Best will be law not to exist, because the disorder is organized

properly institutionalized

Oh! of me if it gets to develop my intelligence

To be educated, there they arrive me the ancestral sacraments:

She will wash the silly, the clothes and to sweep the ground

then he cooks funji with okras, jimboa and roasted cacusso

He brings the jindungo watered with the drink of our thunderstorm

tropical storm

Soon afterwards we will wake up the shadow of the secular baobab"

We struggled, we suffered, we lived, we died

Without money. He is with them and those

of the oil companies

Rarely for love. If it didn't exist today, tomorrow?!

Image: http://i.pbase.com/o6/

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (84). To govern is easy, ask the vultures

See what did me and they didn't keep

The sounds that now hear from the nude feet and extended hands

My name is for sale that lost feeling

As a small window, that not even that already have

And my name was the future… after the year 2000

My future, my clock stopped, no longer it is used

in the programs turned without computer

Nor I began, I stopped, awaiting the hour,

delay to speak

I lost the escalade of the veil that leads me to the sky

We are together, so close and however so distant

As orphan children's tears

As everything that is beautiful and always ephemeral

To govern is easy, ask the vultures

When two men don't understand each other, the money is wrong

I have to hurry, I will turn over the garbage of the hope

Without her, of finding what remains of my name

I sit down, I feel tired

Everything that be built, destroyed will be

in the cynicism of the African hypocrisy

where daily everything becomes worse

He falls to the pieces, without earthquakes

The human volcanoes burn Africans

Everything is recorded, it falls day after other day

Without schools, without appropriate teaching

My brain is atrophied

It is for that that they say is "the late Continent"

The human History is the history of the daggers

If the soccer fields cultivated earth

we would have abundance of food

Followers of the soccer, modern slavery

I don't get to affirm me awaiting the prophet

The tears jump in my face when I think

The animals are anxious while God extends their hands

To a seating love in the margin of the a thousand rivers

I saw the mother give his baby to flee of the hunger

The sea trying to jump over mountains flooding inhuman

returning to the beginnings

The lost human beings in the concrete jungle

Chained, happy caught in the traps in the bestiality

forever eternal

The baby forever abandoned smiling

for the hostile world

I saw many us forever compliant, accomplices in the misfortune

I saw the silences of each instant in our glance of every day

As wild dogs in the uncertain escape for a place

I tried to fall asleep in the discouragement tomorrow of the mammy

To confirm the adventure, to continue in the misfortune

in this Angolan bread always orphan

Image: http://www.skyscrapercity.com/showthread.php?t=471629&page=4

Angola, the largest swindle of all of the times

Angola doesn't have electric energy. Angola is in the chaos economic and social. Governed by half dozen of colonialists is an oasis for the oil companies. They spoil, they decimate for the hunger the populations. It is not by chance that the oil companies and the banks have colossal profits, hidden treasures. And it is this the Marxism-Leninism.

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (83). Because my petroleum and diamonds were, they don't already here remain, they are a lot besides the sea

The upstarts' agitation in the hunt copper-covered without pause

they don't leave that we rest, of turning over the intact

Nor you remain, you break, nor protests

That we are blessed with notable smell in uproar

Give to the new gentlemen, what belongs to them

The submission of the illiterate ones is belongs of the slaves

I dance and I don't find the centre of my Universe

Millenniums are passed in my face

Of twitching, of screeching of teeth

of snarling eternal

I usually have the pretension of saying everything

To the imposed silence of everyday

That they are born and they hide my mask

chosen of my heart without delight

Quickly to see it destroyed

my country, Angola

The highways and the convoys are our distraction. They feed a lot of loads and few discharges. Metal groups that circulate loaded to the sea. Petroleum, copper, zinc, gold, uranium, diamonds… many rare metals. Then they export us, they prepare us. They allow observing us those goods - to photograph them no because the Marxist-Leninist god is always present - that impede our sustenance. He deposed the Marxist-Leninist ones abandon us offer us the abundance of the black hunger. Angola, Ethiopia, Liberia, Sudan, and many more…

The economic displeasure, the corruption, the outrage

I lost the countless times in that I was freed

for soldier-dictators

Where I will go, I don't know, they stole me the

cottage

and the orchids of the gardens

Without perfume, with sourness, where I will go

I don't know

Remember me, I walk thereabout to the search

Of some honest ruler. Say that it never again ends

my torment

I scream in the deepest forest virgin

say, seek our ancestral God

If they find him in the sacred circles

when they dare to go to the deep of the sacred forest

Remember me, don't fear, there I will be

They swallow me a ship without slaves

without presents and without eternal presidents

I try to recompose the lost wreckage

of the boats that stagnate in my eyes

Walking, the ocean of my tears

Always in the longest search than I promised

to return and to remind of the twenty of the beach of Jamestown

He begs in the nude street without mirror to aim at me

Tell me struggle again

and to finish off, and to kill

I lost them the will, no longer I love them

I hate them

Because my petroleum and diamonds

they were, they don't already here remain

they are a lot besides the sea

Image: http://www.skyscrapercity.com/showthread.php?t=471629&page=4

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (82). It is not the armament that wins a battle, it is the human mill

Handcuffed cruelty transported in these other ships of stormy seaquakes. Of the vile government that sucks everything that is dollars for them. And for the population the abandonment. Before the silence and the cynicism of the Western democracy. That they send their banks for us to decimate us. They don't know that they promote the world hungry persons' terrorism and more theses places. And however Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan cheer up against the blockade of this Western terrorism.

They despise me far away from the luxury of his living rooms, in auctions, where they admire, they savour, and they buy my womb, my breasts… and the exhibition of my nakedness

Millions of brothers and sisters there were without right to ticket of passage, and so many and so much didn't pass in the Passage

The merchants before the pressure of the abolition of the meat for vultures and sharks, defend that this affect her sustenance and the one of their families

I was very concerned with 1880 to 1914. They forced me to sign protection treaties with machine guns in the hand. There was not anything that it was not enclosed. The Whites were well received, they rewarded us with her powerful grapeshot

I jumped of the morning and the day saw me. He finished very fast

I just sleep to forget, to deceive the hunger that devastates me

I want that the nights end fast

to get one to live more day

Of a dream outraged without final

To live is not a dream

it is a nightmare

a curve without final

in the brutal life

I cannot sell the whistle of the wind

I am as that stopped, undecided

almost as a statuette

of ivory

We are crowds of static statues

without infinite, without perception of the distant future

Of the thoughtful sadness of the nightmare that doesn't abandon me

In the morning awake and other nightmare waits for me

The nightmare of the day by day

of the bayonets

Three conditions define the human being

In foot, seating, and lying in the eternal

I helped the Zulu. We defeated English and Afrikaners

Then we were due, humiliated, due to the thunders

To the storms of the powerful weapons

It is not the armament that wins a battle, it is the human mill

It was happy before them arrive. He was in the paradise

he didn't worry anything about the food

There was her to the kicks. Mangos, bananas, pineapples

lobsters, skunks, a lot of fish market

They leaned me to the wall of the racial discrimination

They glued me a paper that identified

Black without paradise in the lost earth

Just obtaining the copyright

of being quiet

The missionaries faced the secular silence

of the divine kindness. Of the little to do, of the animal denial

irrational

I exist invisible, without statistics

I am a negative zero

Image: http://www.skyscrapercity.com/showthread.php?t=471629&page=4

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (77A). Aminetu Haidar

I don't know what democracy is
can anybody become trained?
Maybe the Occident
or the East
No! Only the Occident
the only that he understands
that until he gives democracy courses
and of demagogy

Per times I get confused so much
But, because only the Whites
they have democracy
and the other people
tyranny, merchandise and spice?

They move me, so potent
burning in their convictions
I believe that will let to die
in her house, in Europe
I consider that that is pure terrorism
and a great attack to the life
of the human rights (?)

Everything doesn't pass of papers
in the garbage of the History

I am deigns, I struggle for my rights
for my Freedom!
Europe is not free
it is reservoir of dogs
she abandons me as a dog
Europe is a dog

I leave my last appeal
to the trees, mountains
forests, rivers and storms
That they join
and drop you

He spoke like this to Aminetu Haidar

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (81). I Yellow brownish dying equal to the corrupt ones and speculators

The sun as a gigantic moved away curtain

he entered of outburst in the city

The plants begged him more water

He worried, it heated

In vain in the heads in Indians lines

buckets emptiness, supplicants in dripping

overbearing of the special guards

and presidential

before the next to drizzle

The salt was worth my weight in gold

The king of Ghana got rich as the currents

because of his gold.

These are real and marginal that enrich

the petroleum

They conquered me in the first European adventure

They inaugurated the slaves' traffic, gold, and ivory

They were flotation grocery stores with slaves from Senegal and Guinea

It is later in the Golf of Guinea.

It collects cloth and weapons of Europe

The king of Congo let to take for the Christianity

And the snakes and the chameleons ignored my sorceries

The silence nocturnal invades the city

with clouds of shots before the storm

Here and there roars are foreseen

The violence of the silence invaded the city

In a retreat of the clinic the daughter struggled with the mother's life

The daughter with the life in the hands

The lying mother in the hands of the life

The work struggled sharp in the hands

Made clamour, projects late branches

The mother seemed, a beauty of the eternal perished

The city dried off and she got rich

of powder

I yellow dying brownish

equal to the corrupt ones and speculators

stupors. To the real estate scarecrows

The rain arrived; he brought many buckets and brooms

It rained a lot of cleaning. The green hope was reborn

Of tingling of the people with and without a destination

repainting the millenarian picture of the divine hunger

Rediscovered America demanded slaves to Europe

Caribbean planted in the plantations and dived in the pearls

Indians mined in the gold mines and silver to the exhaustion of the death

Changes, substituted by the African resistance

Of the magnanimity colonial, original Portuguese and Spanish trade

The profit, the only attractive aspect of the disorderly human competed

They still today didn't gorge the safes of the world accumulation

Of the Dutchmen, Swedish, Danishes, Germans, French, and English

They fortified Occidental Africa

The fable of my slavery lucrative vein with the intolerant cooperation

Of the avidity and connivance of Africans

that they give us to the foreigners

as slave labour

to pay the palatial luxuries of their presidential guards

and governments of faking

Always more in front, always more in front, it was the sugarcane

and the clove plantations

Image: Angola em fotos

Luanda, Marxism-Leninism forward!

He sees her sharply where more this African fishing net is going with constant electric power cuts.

December 08, 2009 from 18.15 to 21.20

December 09, 2009 from 08.08 to 12.50

Live the return of the Marxism-Leninism!

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (80). And in three parallel universes. Empire, to can, poverty

The life only has sense

If we get to live her

I need kisses in my womb and in my breasts

in the silence of the agitated nights

I aspirated to be educated and good professional. He wanted to live in peace

it is not political… it is a facto

On these camouflaged times I observe a great merit

The lie of the racial harmony

economic and social

The extermination of Nation Angola's people

of this Nation

They came of so far, they passed for here

and here they were

When he leaves of living I hope to leave something

That my permanence was not in vain

It was happiness to leave my gratitude

In this Angola

the ones that struggle for the survival succumb

The one that govern stay

The deads are going increasing… they never decrease

genetically not vulgar

So many lost times in the search of God

And He is in our brain, in the thought, in our mind

I crawl in three dimensions. To be, to be, to be

And in three parallel universes. Empire, to can, poverty

The History is the inspiration of the idiots to the power

or the hungry persons' crowds that aspirate to eat

When the democracies don't work

the ends attack and they take the power

They see each other many cars with decorations

the one of the power belongs one to them

I never saw so many idiots in the power

The rain already Benguela arrived

it will rain in Huambo

The children will play a lot of times in the lakes of the rain

The children will be seafaring

they navigate it in the lakes without life

I tried to dive in the abyss of the night

Of the almost fifty years of power

And I saw Angola devastated of corpses

of the orgiastic dictatorship

He remained the distant softness of the music

The more he approached

plus she stood back

The music as virgin woman

learning the roads without love

The soft butterfly ephemeral spread their wings

he flew, he landed in the monitor

She opened forever their wings

agglutinated in the hands of the Programmer of the Universe

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (79). They are not urban legends, it is the king's reality, of the crooked real boss

I listen everyday the alienation of the government:
“Our petroleum and diamonds"
We struggled against the Western colonialism
Now we struggled against the Angolan colonialism
I repeat them! Don't kill because they will also be died!

In the church without manna asked me to offer them
a car of passengers, that later God would feel everything
Them for us to drink, them for they undress and they dress

I leaned my beauty in the shoulder of the soft tree
As a very tired traveller
perspiring the African heat
of the burning oppressor
I lied down looking at the sky
I fell asleep and I woke up before the moon to say good-bye

My country was independent
Before he lived with a white, later we married
Only the names that called me!

When the thought is inconvenient
the doors of the censorship and of the racism they open up
We shot the books for the garbage alleging that they were obliging
of the imperialism and of the capitalism
they didn't serve the communism
We walked, we walked and no we stopped
we tried the literacy, we fell in the solitude

I am somewhere at the country of the nowhere
They tell me that I am as the flies
to survive
As the remains of the food that send me
I am the people that voted for in the continuation
in the forgetfulness of the slavery

I don't know nor I can guess
My goddess doesn't wake up
of the mirror without image
I will listen her voice again
Deeply
handcuffed in the margin of the green grass
of the river with fish oil tanker
and in the surface of the water of the sea

The ruins of the military confrontations
they were to the thousands
We struggled to raise, to rebuild
we continued without getting
We got lost in the time of the ideologies
We led in the exams of the democracies
They are not urban legends, it is the reality
of the king, of the crooked real boss

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (78). A country of soccer players, full of feet, emptiness of heads

I look at the summit and I see higher
a sky, a mountain that everyday
I want to reach
Then I feel that I am not still capable
when will I be it?
I need the balance, the harmony of the tolerance
and an infinity of affections.
How to seek
the justness in the human beings and difficultly to find
Perverse in the black night, more and more distorted

I leave the underdevelopment building footballs stadiums
A country is made with books, with footballs no
A country of football players, full of feet, emptiness of heads
The ball is round, the minds square, obtuse
They lean walls in my brain to block their functions
They inject me contradicted information
factiousness
for he moves to the opposite

The explosions of the musical grenades, of the parties, merrymakings of the deafness neuronic and pathological
Idiots of closed minds that they never open up
The sorcery expands, it is imposed
command. It is another training
in another kingdom
I carried and I unloaded a lot of salt to Europe
and a lot of freedom for some, little, insignificant for none’s
That it arrived of the Russians and Cuban communism for more some years
now tracked by the FAMILY
Portuguese, Brazilian and Chinese

The jasmines are a group of thoughts
Several perfumed harmonies of future
They are streets lost by the balance of our misunderstanding
Without balance we didn't reach our amen
When I look at the jasmines remember the virginity of the fields
Of the free earth and pacifier that spoil me under the feet

Following the law of the survival, I remembered, I am predator
Before they called me my beautiful seraph
My worst enemies are the ones that govern me

In this portion of the Black Continent
The colonialism and the slavery continue
in the different colour
The hell of the men's cruelty is same
The colour changed the colonialists no
Fear to walk in the streets, my Angola
he treats me as criminal
I practice my self-destruction
I addicted me in throwing buckets of polluted waters

He approaches Christmas of the dark nights, of the days without hope
Of the families, of the mothers far away from their orphan children
Correspondents for the biblical skies
for the flood of the weapons later silent (?)
That they try to shoot love and peace
In the parents' temptation that they forgive to their children
Of the present promises to the lonely hearts
Still no conquered in unexpected encounters

Of the fogs of the fogs of my tears
That has-of transforming in river
so that more east Christmas is not dry

And as the best than we have
we know is to continue, to destroy
it only remains us devastating, tumbling
of our mental ruins

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (77). Revolution of continuous discontinued

In the beginning they continue to become trained
that the world is very beautiful
Everything full of flowers. And that it is so beautiful to love in the world
That we deserved to be happy and that for that owed
To be sincere as the pure water
just when we drank her and we satiated the thirst

Later we learned that there is no understanding
because no we respected the divine heart (they say)
The bitterness, betrayals, hates, disgraces, unhappiness, and cruelties
and the hypocrisy
Rottenness of societies and ascensions
of dictators of fast destruction
Don't demonstrate me the maze of the happiness
And I am very thankful for everything that they didn't teach me

To write is to communicate what cannot be said
it doesn't interest to the rulers nor a little
if we are alive or died
The important is travel and we know the time
of the existence in this democratic circus
in the fair of the I owe and I don't pay
It is gets rich like this. To live to die, to live to steal
without exhaustion
In the wait of the death, because it is the illusion of the life
Per times I get to pass for another dimension.
It is there don't see the things as they were, but as they are.

I was born in sad Africa, or sad African
I avoid to meet, I flee of me
I sleep without dreaming
Until the nightmares they abandoned me
Dream of open eyes and I see thousands of ships
Crowds in the beaches that pursue me
and I hide in what remains of the civilization

I try smoothly to feel the sensation
Of this deep darkness
After the dramatic battles of every minute
for not shortening my life
In the many years of the crooked deals of the war
Because the purposes of my paradoxical existence
they will never be reminded

In the edge sand dune, real garbage can of inhuman bodies
I am as the clowns, river, I make to laugh
inside of me I am sad
I Laugh to hide my sadness
I am entitled of the imposition
of being quiet
The days precede me in the mist of the nights
Black darkness of the lost times
never recovered
I fear that has to leave for far
since here I don't see anybody for close

Revolution of continuous discontinued
In the he is hit of the spree are three days to sleep
some don't wake up
It was the colonialism, to follow liberators they came
Then the neo-colonialism. What will the one be is proceeded?!
In Black Africa, cradle and grave of the inhumanity

And the Angolan and international scum
he continues in the population unpunished spoliation
Always with Western support

But, because this riots delay?!

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (76). These liberators began and they still didn't finish

To the that died with the wars and they took
they kept
they hide their silences in the graves

I made a lot of promises in the summit of Kilimanjaro
I looked for very far and I got confused
Enclosed for the lost savannah of green
he just remained the halo
of the dictatorships
as a star without shine
Very far, very far
of the promises that did me
That everything would be wonderful
But everything continues very far away from the high of the hill
Of the stubborn promises no happened
I see figures and images without body
that I didn't dream. I continue very far away from the theatrical close

I travel a lot in the recently opulence of the slavers caves of the ships
He heard the touching wrap salty of the agitated water
now I am in the darkness of the earth
until her they return me to spoil
in the return of the atonement
of the crimes of the government

We didn't build, we destroyed nations
We promised, we were, no Africans, then didn't pass
Glorious appreciated extinguishing of the fire
Liberator, oppressor that we ballasted, and we don't know more
we cannot control her
We appreciated the lust of the brilliant automobile
of the fact and western tie. We make internal many speeches
and the Nation moves forward with tenuous lost words
In the wind desolator, in the incommensurable personal purposes
of the African boss
People are only one person. People, object use, of personal extent.

Ignored by the settlers that today
subtlety are our great friends
In the years of the wait that are always many
that God wants first and we waited
He promises Ramos balsamic of the eucalyptus
in the related to kaffirs earth formerly mapped
Of the friendship no rewarded is difficult to return behind
As they are difficult and complicated these days

In the markets it is bought, he sells himself poverty
To live and to suffer, I build my prostitution
the easy life, of the difficult existence.
Nude bodies, in the environmental dew.
Everything that is matter has limits

Windy storms

They force me to do many children, in the inglorious hope
that some arrives to president, or I supply
I don't get to revert my colonized mind
lost. I lost my cultural identity
I smile my anguish in the magical company of the sewers
Until the beaches they stole me, Africa privatized

These liberators began and they still didn't finish

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (75). As it can a slave to be freed, in the illiterate freedom

To middle of the morning you served me cacusso
(Cacusso, fish very appreciated in Angola)
that he still lived, roast in the agitated delicacy of the coal in ember
we looked at each other deeply, a lot for besides our souls
Oh!.. as later you went so delicious
When I received your lips and I spoiled
the home of your heart

The wars work on time entirely
in the morning… in the daytime and at night
It was in an of those periods that I lost forever
the taste of loving
The war of the false liberators
They murdered your love in Dondo
(Dondo, place to north of Luanda, Angola)
I still protected time to see you, while you lived
in the lightning’s of the shelled thunderstorm
They diffused the military divisions of the division of the Nation
Then they impeded me of returning
of looking you for the last time
I know that you stopped existing forever in a catacomb
crater
In an opening of called earth my love of Ndalatando
(Ndalatando, place to north of Luanda, Angola)
Our gladiators they destroyed, they were destroyed
And they called themselves of liberation movements
They walked in Santo Graal's search
finally they found it
Hidden in the petroleum, in the shine of the diamonds
and in the special spices
Of the emeralds of our bodies precious goods
that they sold and they resold in the cycle infernal sway
of the carnal ships
They didn't care with the corporal export
of my beautiful body, attractive and sensual
so natural, fleshy of pulp growth of mangroves

Who invented the human being
he left him with several short circuits

The slave never forgets the loved person
it is loving as a slave
Without never to wait a smile and to trust
in the eternal wait of an affection
A kiss in the waves of my body
without looking for your eyes
Conserving the suffering of the tears
when obedient I follow your steps
always united in my intimate sand dune

My destiny is the piece-remaining
I listen the celestial voices of my lost song in the forest charms
My simplicity and humility continue touching
To be or not to be, here is the subject?! Pure and joyful mistake
To have or not to have the imperfection here is!
of my Taj Mahal under each tree a temple
without kingdom, expatriated

The time of the temple of this other colonialism is a web
and in her I continue entangled
Yes! The time is a temple, my clock stopped
no longer I know what are hours
Because you delay Freedom?!
He captures of Sacred Trinity

As it can a slave to be freed, in the illiterate freedom

Image: Angola em fotos