And quavering of Chukar and the perfumed breeze of the jasmines flies restless

Dedicated: Shumayla Tanveer

You are far away from your friends and of your family, but your heart is in Karachi.

You are far, but you sit down, you foresee disemboguing of the rivers in your heart of Karachi.

You are moved away of the mountains of Pakistan, but you conserve their summits in your soul, and the clarity of their snow your spirit, that is always in Karachi light up.

Preserves in your eyes the mirror of the waters of Manchar Lake protected by the immensity of the mountains that they kiss your sky of Karachi.

The noises of the traffic automobile pursue you, and the webs of the crowds entangle you in the streets of Karachi.

And the sincere smiles and the children's innocence follow you as butterflies hovering for under your long and flat hair, because the secret of your paradise is in Karachi.

In you a goddess, princess exists disguised of human, that she renounced the immortality to hug the human beings' of Karachi mortal destiny.

And the echo of your voice kept in the valleys loosens her and it is listened in Karachi.

And quavering of Chukar and the perfumed breeze of the jasmines flies restless because they desire your return, they want your presence in Karachi.

What is that he drinks for here friends?

It is a very funny Republic
he doesn't have electric power
he doesn't have anything
What is the one then that he has?!
Widespread corruption!

One more day of corruption
in the wait
And another of darkness
he despairs us
and nobody is above
of the corruption
Great leader friend
the corruption is
with you
the corruption is the great leader
of this Nation

And a powerful demon arrived and he settled
and of Angola he will never leave, it took oath.
On behalf of the Father
On behalf of the father from Angola, of the children
daughters, so many
friends and of Holy spirits

How much more poverty this factory to manufacture,
more volcanoes will break out
they are already so many, so many
that nobody gets to tell them

So much passed time
of so much wait, desperate
so tired
In the it despairs of the wait of the independence
still no arrival, miscarried
Other liberators
they will do with that she is
freed
With the flag of the corruption
spread
Forward Angola!
quartered
And who doesn't have generator
he waits for him the power, dominant
that horror
Of manufacturing corpses
in the wandering streets
I eat formerly

The houses of the healthy people to devastate
and children with some days
they are for the tractor
to triturate, to kill
And they have tractors babies
that they triturate for the parents' despair
In the bank accounts
Illegal

You of the martyrs of the repression
the all the moment
in TPI he waits for you
the judgement
This is our prison guard
of living in the captivity
The explosion there was been already
of the revolt of the population
her palaces always set on fire of light
and ours in the darkness
of those spoiled, nude
As they can torturers our life to get better
with a hand they promise us
and with the other defrauding us

Angola is a plantation of slaves
of our farmers and foreigners
Angola is bought, he sells himself
it is rented by the worst offer

Image: blogdacamilaschoffen.blogspot.com

Ballad of the Corruption that Passes. Adaptation for our corruption of the Ballad of the Wind that Passes, of Manuel Alegre

I ask the corrupt that it passes
for the corruption of my country
and the corrupt silences the misfortune
the corrupt anything I say.

I ask the oils that they take
so much unsheltered Tchavola
the corrupt ones don't calm me
everything takes of this lonely earth.

Everything takes of this lonely earth
oh Tchavolas of my country
without homeland, without light and water
where you do go? The leader never says.

If the hunger defoliates
you die without country
and the group of the four
that you died for your country.

I ask the corrupt that it passes
because it steals us the bread
Torment - it is everything that in the clue
who lives in the corruption.

I saw to flower the green dollars
in the rioted beds
with such few masters
and so many spoiled workers

And the corrupt doesn't tell me anything
and the leader says anything again
I saw my renounced homeland
in the corpses without arms of the people.

I saw myself pariah in the bandits
of the ship-oil tankers in the sea
as who wants to flee
but it is forced to be.

I saw ship-oil tankers of gold
(stateless persons waters)
I lost my homeland, it deserted
(green dollars, misfortunes, sorrows).

There is who wants you neo-colonized
and they are too many harnessed them
I saw you spoiled, tchavolada
in the corrupt guideless arms.

And the corrupt doesn't tell me anything
he shows me, in the dictatorship it insists
I saw the martyrs without homeland
down-and-out, everything sad.

The corrupt never says anything again
he speaks to the Nation everything omitting
in the raids to the people
I see my homeland vanishing.

And the nights to the candlelight
without rulers, without country
I ask news the corrupt
and the corrupt anything I say.

But there is always a candle
that it illuminates our misfortune
there is always a democrat
that he sings to the corrupt that it passes.

Even in the darkest night
in the dictatorship of the spoliation
there is always a martyr that insists
that he riots against the chameleon

that he says is enough, not to the slavery.
Image: avozita-omeusonho.blogspot.com