As to understand that one day the candy hope,
It loses ahead sensible of a unhealthy injustice,
As a sail-boat commanded for a innocent child,
In impious storms of rebellious sea of it covets.

As to temper ambitions of an absolute power,
That it exhibits one arsenal of imperious truths,
Nor always true in its meaning resolute,
But continuously reticent in satisfying vanities.

As to demonstrate indignation without to be subversive,
Where the critical one to the power is constant threat ofdispute,
The simple duty to accept the circle of friends,
With a hostile hypocrisy to a bitter taste people smile.

As to believe the potential of this great country,
Marked for the children who still die of hunger,
E that incipient still scribbles its black chalk picture,
Badly knowing to spell its name worthy.

One day certainly still if will be able to hear withfirmness,
In a River of placid margins in the reality,
A freedom shout where it will not have more poverty,
Illuminated to the sun of a new world of truth.

Copyright by JOSE BRITES NETO

I woke up in this night and I set to think,
As it would be this life without the cruel discord,
Where the sensible fragrance as perfume in air,
It would denounce the presence of the love in abundance.

Without the lasciviousness of the vetoes that massacre thepoverty,
In the vastness of the power of central governments,
That royalty supports the one luxury eternal,
With subjective antonyms of slum quarters and cathedrals.

In the absence of the money as root master of the system,
Corrupting lives and souls in the subtleties of the hell,
Generating a cold dependence of constant one dilemma,
Of children abandoned in full severity of the winter.

Where families rendered unhappy for the rival competition,
Never they would not be destructed by the disagreement,
Beaten for cholera and brutal style of violence,
Constant evidences of putrefaction and illness.

Children brought to the world without its will,
Deceased to the first one second of life without mercy,
This already would not be plus a sad reality,
In this my desirous dream they would have happiness.

Wars of shady contexts and so inhuman profiles,
Generating heroes vain people and martyrs of vainglorydead,
Taking care of orders of governments sabotaged for the properplans,
For eternity ambitions and excuses of a dismal design.

Because not it contrary and to march in reverse of history,
And to fulfill the ritual of a true metamorphosis,
Where the love in harmony would be the direction of ourmemory,
And the dream of the man if would be an eternity for the entirenight.

Copyright by JOSE BRITES NETO

To the times I think what it happens to the man-government,
In the beginning welfare promises collective,
That they hide manifestos of its magnificent profile,
In the concrete ambition to carry through its objective.

Which is to satisfy proper interests,
To enrich with greed which would not be its target,
Accumulating wealth never lack welfare to it,
Cruel sacrifice of the poverty of a people with onebitter sweat.

Speeches spelled in the regency of hard hypocrisy,
Punctuating questions with its provisional remedies,
Conversing in its group with one said finesse,
In the permanent illusion of medieval oratorical.

As one feudal Sir in the sentence of its history,
The illustration of the obscure red in confrontation to theolive green,
False representation of who fetching the proper glory,
As an thirst of power that its ambition determine.

That hideous democracy consider such misters,
As one plan pernicious of lewd interventionism,
Thus the humanity in its inversion of values walks,
With diplomats tasting desserts of public treasure.

If the memory of my people did not suffer from amnesia,
False leaders masked for a pure image,
They would not be forever as mighty men preaching lies,
For a society deceived for a white dictatorship.

Copyright by JOSE BRITES NETO

Taming the hardness of a time,
In the delicacy of a simple feeling,
Where the song of love is a moan,
Of a dawn that rest in suffering.

Where it is the presence of the human being?
Succumbs as a wind soprano,
In the dispute marginal of a deceit,
Whose cruel target is indeed insane.

Overseers of daily landscapes,
Trying to supplant mundane souls,
In the pastime of the epiphany wait,
Deceived for the splendor infamy.

In this scene that portray the sketch,
Of everything that is launched to the well,
Of the misery, where the lunch is served,
It awakes of this sleep, fearless colossus!

Copyright by JOSE BRITES NETO