holiday in kosovo

godzilla is over the bridge

having children on the crossroad

a missile breaks the darkness

the night is pregnant of fire

the world is crying but it is a birth

sometimes life has no meaning

architecture is not the aim of a city

life is, was, will be

the crying eye sees the invisible

parents and relatives

love passes but invisible

all the force is not enough

to bring the light

a monster with an angel face

an aeroplane acting like a pigeon

wings of hate in his heavy flight

the hearts of America are not one

the mind of the earth is troubled

searching for the memories

memories of the future

of 2001 of the XXI

when it would be different

but the evil arrived in a tourist trip

the hard time of the brothers

are hard to face but must be faced

a holiday in a balcanic beach

would be possible celebrate

the inconfidence of Minas Gerais

in Belgrade?  freedom has no home

April 21st 1792, the head of Tiradentes is cut to show

that this country could not

be free, freedom has a home

martyr is all the people that watch

an undestroiable bridge being built

they will understand before

it’s all lost before the XXII

before life was just an idea.

I collect maps of many cities together

willing that the world

could be like that

a long avenue of religions and parties

of wombs and health and

music and kisses

and stones and houses and shelter

but they fall on the floor

Europe is upside down

Northamerica on the South Pole

the Latinos are Muslims

snow in Africa

atlantis is not pacific

the Idea is lost in the sand in the wind

of notoughts noman nonew nothing

without an answer there will be

no confort for no one

the tiranic chest will wake in

the middle of a sleep

and will see the nightmare,

will be to late for regret

will be early to start the end

will be time to rewind

the remembering

and start again the construction

of a dream the same dream

a man a woman an apple

a house a child a serpent,

until the night

falls again.

joão diniz,     21, 4, 99

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