Posted on April 21, 2015 in General by

Ah! Who Gives to me To plant to the Poetry Of the Other Side Of the World! The boys always in rows, there in that stopping of Hoji? Ya? Henda, vendendo the cool waters in the packing. Each shout raising the head, and, equally, running in the way of the road between the cars, where the life is lost and the money gains value there enters the fluid eyes in the dawn of the eternity. The steps wet – in each race, this muidagem does not know the life, does not know the other side of the world (…), dirty, encardidos, with marrotadas clothes, but with genuine souls. The dreams had been stolen in the dawns of bungavilhas (…), where its voices cry in the perpetual womb of that breast (…) that yesterday and today it loads firewood in the head and my brother in the coasts crying a mutilated future (…) Oh! Here, where the sweat becomes each drops of hopeful tides, dying in the green fields and the hours of the delayed projects (…) Eating in these pans the burnt past and rotating the gift encadido in lands of the east Where not to know these nations This crianada, violated in its skeleton, directed in the dark forests and the Islands Cannibals of the north the voices of those (…) breach? them the mido silence that shelters? if for detrs you cultivate of them of clouds, there without waiting the transparent eagles to fly and to return in the dawns To the relento, they sleep in sands, the sidewalk of those cities and the winter conceiving – the souls and the bodies they become – the sheets of the dreams run over for the luxury of the penumbra Here, nobody knows – here the wolves and the sheep live (…), who. This prudish utopia is constant, to the rising and putting of the sun, there where the homesicknesses shelter – one day flowery is entered the tears waiting Days of the uncertainties (…) Of that brothel, where the laughs to abrirar? if? to as the petals (…)