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.

sábado, 16 de janeiro de 2010

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (101). The history of the History repeats. Never so few spoiled so many

They promised me the Western freedom
in change I obtained to probation
in this Angolan concentration camp
They used the ingenuousness of my womb
They put black decolonises, follower’s followers
that they maintain the peace, stability
It is foreign well paid swear that they are skilled rulers, defenders of the democracy GDP
The wealth are drained under the blessing of the tropical sun
in the patients without hospital
The safe of my stomach leaks, it fills the Occident
and China

Of the two democracies, opulent Occidentalism and tropical hunger
The wealth is the democracy and the poverty is her bastard daughter
A dictionary is richer because it contains very lexicon
of the hungry persons and miserable
of the independence of the alms
There are rich languages and poor languages
To speak or not to speak the darkness here is
The history of the History repeats. Never so few spoiled so many

I lie down and I always get up of head in the air
To lie down, to get up. The hunger also lies down, she gets up
it resists it all of the incidents. Full of gallantry, very functional
She has good memory, long, distant
She arrests us, she keeps us in their walls without battlements
It chains us for secular guards. Faithful in the crossroads
Always to the wait because she doesn't know how to exasperate. Tireless
she never spurs her mounted one. She never forgets
She is a faithful friend, it is never alone. Million and million in her take shelter
It is powerful, it forces as the storm that afflicts them uncovered

I have to sell any thing for not fainting
but the sovereign's guards they impede me of doing
Her police pursue me, they steal me have them
I don't know him that saying, nor what can do
I appeal to the rights Western humans in the marginal section branches
that can defend. Them, the causes of my condition, have to be worth me. Yesterday they broke me the cottage, no longer it is the first, to proceed it will be the third party
Western! They don't know what is to sleep to the dew, to die in the company of the rain and of the wind dictatorial!
The democracy cannot just be for Angolan to see
and for the sovereign to export them petroleum

My hurt mouth because it is always closed
But my sensual lips
my thin womb, my breasts unpolished
Of hurt eyes, everything in them contained
My body still sings, it enchants, brunet
I am this brunette of the love don't calm
Who dares to give me forces, inspiration, to win this barrier
and to get a tenuous clarity?
Oh! That longing to have present, what remains of my mind
subdued by the eternal president

In the altar of the erect prayers
where only princes and princesses dare to speak of the love
oil-producing sucked by the terror of the constitutional violation
Where beggars and beggars dare to speak of the hunger
The novel colonialist nobility speaks about their kingdoms
the hungry persons speak about the nights in the streets
Among princes, princesses, beggars and miserable
Nothing doesn't exist again
Except that we are very good
trained for one more colonization


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