To middle of the morning you served me cacusso
(Cacusso, fish very appreciated in Angola)
that he still lived, roast in the agitated delicacy of the coal in ember
we looked at each other deeply, a lot for besides our souls
Oh!.. as later you went so delicious
When I received your lips and I spoiled
the home of your heart
The wars work on time entirely
in the morning… in the daytime and at night
It was in an of those periods that I lost forever
the taste of loving
The war of the false liberators
They murdered your love in Dondo
(Dondo, place to north of Luanda, Angola)
I still protected time to see you, while you lived
in the lightning’s of the shelled thunderstorm
They diffused the military divisions of the division of the Nation
Then they impeded me of returning
of looking you for the last time
I know that you stopped existing forever in a catacomb
crater
In an opening of called earth my love of Ndalatando
(Ndalatando, place to north of Luanda, Angola)
Our gladiators they destroyed, they were destroyed
And they called themselves of liberation movements
They walked in Santo Graal's search
finally they found it
Hidden in the petroleum, in the shine of the diamonds
and in the special spices
Of the emeralds of our bodies precious goods
that they sold and they resold in the cycle infernal sway
of the carnal ships
They didn't care with the corporal export
of my beautiful body, attractive and sensual
so natural, fleshy of pulp growth of mangroves
Who invented the human being
he left him with several short circuits
The slave never forgets the loved person
it is loving as a slave
Without never to wait a smile and to trust
in the eternal wait of an affection
A kiss in the waves of my body
without looking for your eyes
Conserving the suffering of the tears
when obedient I follow your steps
always united in my intimate sand dune
My destiny is the piece-remaining
I listen the celestial voices of my lost song in the forest charms
My simplicity and humility continue touching
To be or not to be, here is the subject?! Pure and joyful mistake
To have or not to have the imperfection here is!
of my Taj Mahal under each tree a temple
without kingdom, expatriated
The time of the temple of this other colonialism is a web
and in her I continue entangled
Yes! The time is a temple, my clock stopped
no longer I know what are hours
Because you delay Freedom?!
He captures of Sacred Trinity
As it can a slave to be freed, in the illiterate freedom
Image: Angola em fotos
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