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. 

Good-bye. 

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.

akustressgiler.blogspot.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

He does hope when my mother and my son think I died...

 

Poem that of Russian soldiers recited in Second World War 

"Wait for me, and I will return, but he waits a lot... 

He waits until you fill yourself with feather while you see the rain yellows. 

He waits until the winds sweep them Snows... 

He waits in the suffocating heat. 

He waits until the others give up, when they forget him Yesterday... 

He waits same that letters don't arrive from a distance for you... 

He does wait when the others are tired to wait... 

He does hope when my mother and my son think I died... 

And when the friends if they sit down to drink in my memory,  

He waits, don't hurry to drink in my memory also... 

He waits, because I will return, challenging each death, and he leaves those that didn't hope say that had luck. 

They will never understand that, in the middle of the death you, and your wait, they saved me. 

Just you and I will know how I survived... 

It was because you waited for me as more nobody made.  

In THE World at War, 11 episode. Russia 1941-1943. 

Image: Monument to Motherland, Russia. randomicidades.blog.br 

Your beauty is my dream, I never want to wake up

Your face illuminates us, it fascinates us as a star still for unmasking. There in the distant your Universe, the shine of your eyes is the splendor of the sun that vibrates as the life of the Nature of your beauty. So juvenile, so natural, as pleasant as the purity of the water of a river descends of a mountain. I want that your beauty shows us the road of the immortality, of the happiness.

The beauty is the woman's sublime art. Pure, it reaches the perfection and it just magnetizes with the glance. He is for besides the sixth feminine sense. The beauty is the woman's mystery that never somebody will unmask. It is that that moves us and it restores us the forces, that it balances us in the day by day. Without the woman's beauty our life extinguishes as a desert. The beauty is our comfort, our refuge, our hope, our dream. To live is because to dream with the beauty.

When the sun rises the face of the beauty shines. The beauty enters, he makes party. The glance also shines intensely of eloquent desire. The most sublime of the Universe is the conquest of a woman's beauty. A her simple gesture announces the presence of her beauty. Her mysterious smile drags us for her interior, and there the beauty irradiates her splendor. Only the beauty makes us immortal. It is for that reason that your beauty will be sung in verse and in the books immortal writing, as the jasmine of Pakistan.

That a smile always illuminates your life, be your guide, your hope, your longings for you win the future fights. The perseverance is the mystery of our success, of our happiness. And that everyday of your life are always happy birthdays. I wish you of the deepest of my heart, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

In that spring landscape the youth smiled you inviting, where all of the roads of the beauty hug each other. It is a charm to enjoy the offer of such angelic sculpture. Only the beautiful in the marvel, comforts us the soul of the supreme treasure of your beauty. 

Agualusa "For the first time, I feel that can say that am a writer"

When of the release of her last book, the Rainha Ginga, a report of "as the Africans they invented the world".

In declarations to the Portuguese agency, José Eduardo Agualusa said that her new book, that he "wanted to write there is a long time", the answers "an inquietude" of the Angolan ones, that you want to know her past, in a new perspetive. 

Agualusa explained that it "took time" to write it, because he had of "informing more" and he needed to "put in the head of the it Swings, in her universe", pointing out that "everything happened in a time very retreated."

Six years in the eternity of the life already walked

To 

José Quitério 

 

 

I am in the window of the room, in spite of being day, about fifteen hours, the street is very dark, the sky darkened her. Approaches strong storm. The rain falls with force, the street is flooded. The forts drops seem silver bombs, they beat in the soil and they come undone in the search of the earth for us to fecundate her. 

The thunderstorm is close, because they are already clear the sparkles following by the thunders.  

Half hour later the rain makes a pause, it seems that he already gives to leave, but no, the wind blows to announce that more rain will arrive. I don't know if today I will get to travel for Frederico's Coffee. I don't know if I will be in my friends' company to see the western series Bonanza.  

The darkness stays, in the buildings they ignite the lamps that will continue like this because inside in little the official of the night will substitute the official in the daytime.  

The rain doesn't give up her mission of whipping, to flood the earth. The trees are anxious happy for the bath, the green intensifies thankful for the manifestation of the festival of the nature. 

I see children that leave the cars run her for us to play in the water, but same impeded by their parents resist them, using all of the tricks of the infantile artillery. But an or another gets to deceive the maternal surveillance and it jumps, it is swung in the water imagining that it is a duck. When in children we felt an irresistible attraction for the water that makes to imagine that we came from the sea. 

I think that on this Saturday Frederico's Coffee will be a place great to breathe, therefore that due to the rain few people will frequent it. Different from other Saturdays of Bonanza in that it can one to say that all of the smokers of the Olivais Sul there will fill the nicotine chimneys as in a factory. 

 

And to the you walk in the eternity reminds you always of me. You are there on the other side, I am in this, in spite of your immaterial presence I get to feel as if the death just went the opposite dimension of the life.  

Close to the light lamp in the street sees some plants that appear rejuvenated by the elixir of the water, as the alchemists' crucible.  

The family is of return, the voices are unmistakable. No longer I get to think. The children knock on the door, they call for me. I open, they enter and they hug me happy.  

 

Today the rain said that no, and I accept her decision.   

I am going to the kitchen and later to the dining room, and I call: "Mother! Mother! Mother! " Oh! I remember that already there are not, you left in the machine of the time for a distant place where finally you will rest and you will live in peace. I will never forget you!

Image: www.acredite-emvoce.com