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, 22 de junho de 2013

The silence of the fallen leaves, lost




After the leaves fallen, very dry, without the green life, two children, one of three and another of six years, the oldest picks a big leaf, already with the color of the death and alert for her companion: He "looks, this very big leaf is very pregnant!” 
And other child of thirteen months near-if-them and it catches in a leaf, but they don't consent him, they force and the leaf comes undone and the baby screams with all her lung potency, demanding their rights of also to play, but they don't want to know, they move away her of his conviviality and the baby helps of her strategic weapon again, throwing more potent screams, as a dragon of those that it doesn't expel fire, but screams. 
And the attackers' such sticky streets, which of us will say that it was never assaulted? And we walked restless because we don't know if today it will be again our time. We walked heavy in the direction of the heartless ones, ambushed in the motorcycle-fast ones, assaulted, frustrated. The streets no longer they are ours, they are of the unemployed youths' tides. And he is born a subject: that it interests fight ourselves for we get some social nobility, if at any moment we took the risk of the assault in our residences, that in the ribbon the life for something of value that we transported. The streets are the graves of our dissatisfaction. If we don't give the last ones convenient for us to remove of the streets the youths' scourge without future, difficultly we will survive, because this tide never low, it is always flood, and it overflows a lot, unstoppable. The country and our lives are in danger. 
And the mosquitoes that assault us with their braces, hole us the skin and they leave us at the mercy of the malaria that is very dangerous, and for that reason it confronts us in the fight between the life and the death. And the mosquito of the primness, Aedes aegypti, black with white stripes in the paws, only attacks in the daytime while the one of the malaria attacks in the daytime and at night, he works a lot, tireless, he doesn't sleep. The children are the more affected because they are more exposed, usually with just a diaper as clothing, because the heat is intense, and the hospitals and centers of health for more efforts than they do don't get to put down the victims' of this immense battlefield avalanche, because they are the conditions of the environment that in the risk. I don't get to understand because Ministry of Health doesn't spray the city with the habitual, he became abnormal, mounted circulating insecticide in a vehicle. 
And the sickle cell anemia, a hereditary disease that affects the protein hemoglobin also flagellates, he assaults. I hear frequently comments that the neighbor is with the daughter in the hospital, that a friend is also there with her son and that, she died a youth with only twenty-three years because of that disease.   
I remember, when I read the book, THE Painted Veil, of William Somerset Maugham, 1874-1965, that a lot of people died from cholera as hives, except for mistake in a Chinese place, but nobody got to discover the reason. In the area a lot of lettuce was cultivated and they consumed it without wash. After the population was instructed for before the consumption they wash her, the cholera decreased drastically. 
The youths and zungueiras (street sellers) at the end of the intensive course receive the salespersons' of streets diplomas and in them they are hastened. However they live in the constant fear of the attacks of their implacable predators, the district attorney and some police that fly them without pity nor mercy, whitewash them on top with their claws and they drag them the ephemeral belongings, mere trinkets, but the entrepreneurs that flee to the tax collection, the district attorney don't confront them. 
 

terça-feira, 18 de junho de 2013

As it is sweet to be wrapped by the soft song of a jasmine


Happy birthday Shumayla 
Hello queen of the Universe, the King of Pakistan welcomes you
That Allah opens you the doors of the kingdom of the love, and to the you enter that you become a jasmine, and that your candy and soft perfume purifies your angel face. Everything is composed of jasmines, the rivers, the seas, the trees, the mountains, the lakes, the Earth, Pakistan and your world. 

Now that you are a jasmine, you already have an eternal mission: to perfume of love Pakistan. The children there are a lot that they know you and they seat your presence, they drag you for among laughters and celestial songs for her kingdom: a ship done of jasmines that it navigates in the sea also watered of jasmines. And they sing your song, your charm. The love is a gift of Allah. Never resist to the power of the love. They maintain you to him faithful. They maintain you calms always, it trusts you and in your heart, and your mind will rejoice. 

I feel very happy and proud for my beings friend. Your friendship comforts me and it feeds my soul.  
Without fight there is no happiness. He tries to stay always happy, and that the love never abandons you. 
Where exists pure love, it always exists victory. That Allah blesses you. That every day is always happy birthdays, and today it is one of those days. Yes, forever happy birthday Shumayla

Image; https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rose-and-Jasmine-garden-IslamabadPakistan/330327803732329

domingo, 9 de junho de 2013

Five years that the time already took



After the death it is the dream that you left us, that we made an effort for boasting, in our poetic works and in prose to eternalize you, so that no longer being you live, your soul delights with your children's wonderful works. A son that she respect will make everything to deserve her mother, and to tell him in her intimate: "Mother, was not in vain that I began my life in your belly, so loaded, of love so led." 
The human beings live colds and they don't get any thaw. They just live some tenuous moments of love and soon later return immediately to the that better know to do, the savagery. Those for who the love is just a carnal act, a sexual desire, no human beings, were born to hate the love.  
I see a castle, and in him a damsel of celestial beauty, pure as the virginity of the times, that there lives there are many thousands of years, yes, she is immortal, because it was never played by the love, it awaits him, that a prince, already so many, so many, and so many they fell in love, they faked that they loved her, and she lives in the heights of the battlements castellated. Of course everyone vow that that castle is cursed. And suddenly the Knight without a lot of effort breaks the protections of the castle and it ties her damsel that there is many millennia waits him. And the princess, yes she was a princess, quickly, finally she understood that her love arrived, it freed her, and her immortality finished, therefore the love is very demanding, and who wants to love him, to their rules she has to enslave. And to the if it frees, Lady of Time - yes she was - of the millennia of the bitterness of the eternity of the dislike, did she feel happy with intolerance, didn't they know? The love is the most intolerant feeling than it exists - her torture finished, therefore the love arrived him and he would live the amount of years to find him necessary, but later everything would embrace, the death would take. The love is the most wonderful thing than it exists, therefore only he allows to get angry the fire of her bonfire and without want-millstones, without we know, inexplicably to say: I love you!

Images: Rose and Jasmine garden Islamabad,Pakistan.Facebook



sábado, 8 de junho de 2013

He seems, today, yesterday, but eight years already became exhausted


When it leafs them of the trees fall, the trees die once a year and they resuscitate her intense green of the life and the flowers are painted, immortalized in the painting humans' pictures, but in their immortal works. Us no, as we don't have leaves for they fall and later if they renew, we died, we fell and we never again got up, in any hole abandoned ourselves. 
And Ulysses in the eternity of the sea navigates without Penelope to find. The sound of a lute is heard in the distance, it seems the sea to calm, and of Penelope always to fall in love.  
In the earth lied down, buried, of the humans moved away, and no longer remembered, of so much suffering, tortured. 
So many dreams that I had in vain, wanted to accomplish them but they sent me for the face, always in the fear of the: will they shoot me? 
I see a beautiful landscape, the sea loaded of light illuminating the beach, and in her a melodious voice in the sands kept, five hundred, six hundred, and seven hundred years later. And the voice sings, it transplants the dances and you sing them of the Medium Age. It is true yes; any one of us is a machine of the time. It is suddenly a musical procession was done present, and the beauty of the Medium Age was reborn, touching. Yes, the most wonderful sounds are of that time, so much beauty awaiting the discovery. The Holy Grail is the music of the Medium Age. 
And in the distance in earth, I see a loaded field, fence of jasmines, the Jasmine of poets attract, without him poets would not exist. A stream is made present, absentee, the green is not left commands the life, and we are not green for that lost her. And where there is no green, there is north. 
Everything is born and he dies us also, but while alive we should show the road of the eternity, of the solemnity of the love. But there are always the ones that are considered immortal; those are the misfortune of our lives.  
To live is an ephemera dance, which we wanted that it never again ends. To live is to resist, in the bows of the love to succumb.