Our eternal source of the youth is the love.

It is suddenly stopped as that alerted by a mysterious force that it imposes us a discovery. And as that it jumps us, he assaults us a sparkle in our mind. Were we never possessed before by something what understood, my God that this will be?!, did we ask in the frenzied ones. And we looked and anything we seem to surprise. There it is the uncertain virtuosity of the crowd in the promised agony; there are anxious millennia for the promised liberator. The crowds come out mechanics, messianic of the prisons of the home for the another of laboring. They vegetate in the blockade of the announcements that they promise them a life better, very healthy. Will it be that they will get to meet again them outraged and millenarian mazes of the love that the vampires suck us? Renounce, abandon everything, the human being becomes pregnant her with love, and with him it should continue. Our eternal source of the youth is the love.

Eternal absence

After your odyssey in the slavery of the life, suddenly the death called you, it was your time, it sought, and the bill of your life paid off.

And your adventures in the highways, years, so many years of lost expectations. And you continued, you turned to the limits of the destiny.

It is deceived so many times insisted on the slaves' route. More years, so many years without remuneration.

It is the more suffering, more food for God that later will reward you, it will guide you, it will feed you in this life and in the other it will follow you.

The reward is in the earth that we stepped and in the sky we just looked at him.

We lived of promises, and of tortuous hopes of the electoral politicians' assemblies.

And the times always so difficult, easy for the ones that they adulterate the History, always more and more difficult for the crowds that perish in her without they glimpse the promised better future, forgotten, lost.

To remember the watered earth of tears. Of so much time in her past in the fight against the sadness of the poverty, in the certainty that the death is the left faculties' continuation so that the alive ones in them are inspired and continue in opening of the doors of the Universe.

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Miss Universe of everyday

I always await the infinite wait of the delay

as in the magic of the margins of my sky it despairs an angel

I will never forget my gesture of tenderness

always dedicated to my son in the distant abandoned

for promises that will never be accomplished

I will never forget the waits of my countless worms

Human lines to get the essential of everyday

Centuries and desperate centuries to affirm me as woman

With dignity I became used to support

the contempts that it has been throwing on me

And in this provoked human condition

it is reborn me the black existence, and leaning:

I am black about the brown sun of the afternoons

As the moonlight of the nights, and naturally

spotted of the yellow dawns of the annual marigold

Because I am beautiful, as the dawn of everyday

I am black because I am deigns, African descending nobleman

The immensity of the Universe is microscopic, such and which is as the love.

The spirit of the waters still didn't rejuvenate her because her poetry is frozen, cold. The noises of the drums are listened in the savannas caressing him moistened grass of the vigil nights without roofs. In the distance it is heard agitating of wings of the perished bThe spirit of the waters still didn't rejuvenate her because her poetry is frozen, cold. The noises of the drums are listened in the savannas caressing him moistened grass of the vigil nights without roofs. In the distance it is heard agitating of wings of the perished birds of the contagious uncertain direction. The fights and our aspirations lead us to the convulsions of the glances loaded of betrayal, humiliation and spoliation. To live is to combat, for better life conditions to obtain. Revolutionary is just a mere word that is it of facto, never uses her. Poet is to know to meditate, to savor the movements of a stopped screen but showing us the movements of the History of the slavery and of the human infamy. Glance is to show, to prove that the immensity of the Universe is microscopic, such and which is as the love.

Image: Mountain of Baltoro - Pakistan

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To martyr, Lady Ermelinda Freitas, Angolan Joan of Arc

The militant of the BD – Block Democratic, prey with other demonstrators in a total of fifty, some tortured, martyred and others disappeared to the May 27. They faced with unheard courage the most repressive and ferocious forces of the world that are entitled of democratic. Another process of the 50 wins body, the history repeats. But now it is of facto and of it swears the fight for the true independence that is locked. The democracy will expire and of their executioners it will be freed, it will silence them.

The soft morning breeze attracts us

We already reached finally the sunset where the love keeps our desires privately. In the foams of the transparent and irreverent tides of the cycles that seem repetitive, we walked uncertain in chiseled them sands that are slippery, they lie down wavy. The soft morning breeze attracts us for the boundaries of the irreversibility of the time of the love. The murmur of the ancestral fossils invades our memoirs of the beginning of the first love. And we rejoiced because finally we met again the lost love, and of him we didn't want more to leave, because we feared to faint in the unfathomable roads of the passion glances no rewarded, no understood

Image: Nanga Parbat (Pakistan)

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The woman's tears fecundate the Earth of the jasmines.

Woman is a pearl always present, doesn't need oyster. It is the smile that makes to live us. It is the infinite beauty of the gestures of the remarkable feat of the charm. It is a potent light bunch that in the guide and in the abducts for the roads/nests of the love. The mystery of her glance does with that our heart stabilizes, normalize the blood pressure. To be woman is the astral ecstasy. A woman is several dimensions, several Universes. It is a rose of eternal petals. It is our salvation stairway for the paradise. The World moves, the World is woman. Their caresses are not tender, they are divine. To love her is to know to listen the sounds of their silences. The time is infinite; he was the woman who invented him. Peace, silence, harmony, wisdom, patience, to forgive, to believe, tenderness, love, and a lot, much more of the divine essence that it originates the WOMAN. The woman's tears fecundate the Earth of the jasmines.