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.

quarta-feira, 27 de janeiro de 2010

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (113). To be rich is easy. Difficult it is to be honest

The great inventions that happened, discovered, they improved the humanity. Initially it seems that yes. Then the parasites of money increased the profits. To negotiate is easy, difficult is to innovate
To be rich is easy. Difficult it is to be honest

The bills, the information, the police, the politics, the corruption, the hunger, the political persecution.
It is secret! It is secret!
The hypocrisy is as the wind. When weak it falls asleep, very fort enslaves us
Before and after a revolution they submit in the a lot of promises, hurriedly
That we will be independent, occult… imprudent
That the ballpoint pens will be square
And the adventurers rejoice, forever they stay in the spoliation

Shooting, agitated voices, camouflaged. They beat in the gate, with the hand.
I open. What will be then? They are them! The curse!
A revolutionary convict says: "it is her!”
Me, the something!?
"I dreamed about you. In the dream you are involved in the attempt of our president's murder"
You dreamed badly!
"You are accused of crimes against the safety of the state"
At four in the morning?!
"He doesn't "exist time. We bought it, belongs us"
They privatized it!
"The secret doesn't have moments, he doesn't have hours, he has times"
You that accuse me. He looks at me well. I am old combatant. I kept the president's backs. Don't you remember me? We worked together. They voted for me abandoned. Up to now, nor miserable cash.
"It will be like this!”
So many alcoholic, corrupt, dictators and who that foments, and they are not judged, condemned by crimes against the safety of the state.
"If they stopped drinking and they abandoned the corruption would be suspicious… subversive. As the roosters, if they didn't sing, the dawn they announced"
Poor chickens!
"You are right. I remember very well of you. He excuses, you are not you. I will dream about other plotter"


We were born, because to that we are forced
The human tragedy needs actors
Without we give ourselves bill, the human theatre absorbs many figurants
Some act well, others try, they don't get
In the end it remains them beating palms. The life is a representation without theatre
Who in her not to get to represent his actor role
It will be forgotten. Just reminded once in a while in an any earth hole
The bones will remain for ritual stagings
Of sects, religious cults that wait for us
They peep us in our doors, in the windows of our minds
Our mortal remains don't end, they feed the traffic
Of the survival of the sorcery that remains of the millenarian ones
Hidden cults, disguised. The fight actual is final
The cults that Christianity thought extinguished, they return in force
We retreated in the history, we travelled in the time
To the reunion of our origins. Our ancestors' spirits return
They are back. No religion can annihilate other
Two history millenniums are insufficient for that
This hell in that we lived probe to end with being reborn of the Road
A religious sect tried to end with the other ones, it didn't get.

Strangely I remember the cellular phones ones, those devices of the advanced technology of the primitivism, of the menhir, of the tapir, of the altar that always needs sacrifices. For us to carry the batteries day and night. Of the civilization of the pile and of the stone battery.

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