The Epic poem of the Darkness (76). These liberators began and they still didn't finish

To the that died with the wars and they took
they kept
they hide their silences in the graves

I made a lot of promises in the summit of Kilimanjaro
I looked for very far and I got confused
Enclosed for the lost savannah of green
he just remained the halo
of the dictatorships
as a star without shine
Very far, very far
of the promises that did me
That everything would be wonderful
But everything continues very far away from the high of the hill
Of the stubborn promises no happened
I see figures and images without body
that I didn't dream. I continue very far away from the theatrical close

I travel a lot in the recently opulence of the slavers caves of the ships
He heard the touching wrap salty of the agitated water
now I am in the darkness of the earth
until her they return me to spoil
in the return of the atonement
of the crimes of the government

We didn't build, we destroyed nations
We promised, we were, no Africans, then didn't pass
Glorious appreciated extinguishing of the fire
Liberator, oppressor that we ballasted, and we don't know more
we cannot control her
We appreciated the lust of the brilliant automobile
of the fact and western tie. We make internal many speeches
and the Nation moves forward with tenuous lost words
In the wind desolator, in the incommensurable personal purposes
of the African boss
People are only one person. People, object use, of personal extent.

Ignored by the settlers that today
subtlety are our great friends
In the years of the wait that are always many
that God wants first and we waited
He promises Ramos balsamic of the eucalyptus
in the related to kaffirs earth formerly mapped
Of the friendship no rewarded is difficult to return behind
As they are difficult and complicated these days

In the markets it is bought, he sells himself poverty
To live and to suffer, I build my prostitution
the easy life, of the difficult existence.
Nude bodies, in the environmental dew.
Everything that is matter has limits

Windy storms

They force me to do many children, in the inglorious hope
that some arrives to president, or I supply
I don't get to revert my colonized mind
lost. I lost my cultural identity
I smile my anguish in the magical company of the sewers
Until the beaches they stole me, Africa privatized

These liberators began and they still didn't finish

Image: Angola em fotos