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.

domingo, 13 de dezembro de 2009

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

I exist invisible, without statistics
I am a negative zero


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