segunda-feira, 19 de dezembro de 2016


And I am going to go there
Before this reality
(Where I have lived)
Turns into a nightmare.

And this sky, so clear,
Is not what it means:
White, instead of peace,
Forgotten transmits.

Blue, instead of calm,
Dips a previous mourn;
And the sun, so brightful,
Hits me fooly, dully...

It's not still enough
To make me a statue
It just happen would
Whether my brain wash up...

Toward them, couturiers
Of all points of the plots
Which, in the darkness,
Composes people's leer.

There is still time,
But it is so hard
To avoid, to foresee
The end of this beginning:

“New black ship will flow
Through South Atlantic sea...”
“And it'll take all our gold
To the North of this sea...”

“An Old Era will begin again:
The managers will sell our land
To the North Metropolitan lords
And will lend money to rent it all..”

“Money, which will come from us,
New capitalist slave labours
(Independently of our skin tone),
Who will only get the bitter flavour..

In our mouth from the work we'll do...”
“Oh my God, I really do not want it”
“I do not want to live all into
This life I pre saw so much ugly:”

“Working and salary under taxes
Working and salary under interest
Working and salary under healthiness
Working and salary to get under life”.

I, urgently, want to go there,
To live how I am living now.
And I want to avoid this nightmare:
The Hell Living in a land, so tropical.

(Leandro Monteiro)

Nenhum comentário:

Postar um comentário