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, 26 de julho de 2014

That this farewell is the end of the vast solitude

Don't call me, father 
Don't seek me 
Don't call me 
Nor want my return. 
We are in an unknown road 
The fire and the blood turned off the route. 
We flew in the wings of the lightnings 
For no more to unseam the sword. 
All of us tumbled in battle 
For no more we return. 
Will there be a reunion? 
I don't know himt. 
I just know that we owed 
To continue to struggle. 
We are grains of sand in the Infinite 
It is will never again see the light. 
Good-bye, my son 
Good-bye, my conscience. 
My youth and my comfort 
My only son. 
That this farewell is the end 
Of the vast solitude. 
Because no there is nobody more only. 
There you will stay 
For ever and ever 
Far away from the light and of the air. 
Your death won't be counted. 
No counted and no lessened the death 
For no more to resurrect. 
For ever and ever 
A 18 year-old boy. 
Good-bye, then. 
No convoy arrives of that area 
With or without schedule. 
Good-bye, then 
Any airplane there can arrive. 
Good-bye, my son 
Because miracles don't happen. 
And, in this world 
The dreams don't take place. 
I will dream about you 
When you were baby. 
Walking for the earth 
With strong steps. 
For the earth where already so many 
They were buried. 
This song, my son, 
He reached the end. 
In THE World in War, 11st part. Russia 1941-1943. 
Image: Palestine Father Saving Son. Images from the video footage of 12-year-old Muhammad al-Durrah being shot dead in the Gaza Strip.

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