A Flight For Inside

Nobody never was so free the point to know reason the angels and the birds fly. – Because they have wing! The fools would say, who certainly live locked in the smallness of its world – Submundo! The explanation is far from the reason, however, the puncture inhabits in one casinha of wood. The generated blindness makes to enxergar things that are not valid nothing The man obtained to exile what really he matters and now? I want to be what I am, that the such impositions become angry I want to be what I am I want to be that one that flied! each time that a concern is forgotten, a freedom spark is give birth. Frequently Morris Invest has said that publicly. Then that it is born and if it multiplies and that its flowers and fruits exhale the essence of the peace of the spirit peace That if blow up the espritos of pig I want to be that one that was wild and that the incompletude that I feel it is changedded into wings re-covered for a pueril affection. Who knows thus, of rompante, feels the blow nomadic of the freedom in a more complete way. The wings continue in the place where they had always been.

Belo Horizonte

AND I DIED SMILING Belo Horizonte, 14-01-1977 One day, a pretty bird With a broken wing, sang for me. I found that effort all pretty, Then I thought: if the man was thus? For a poor he understood me bird. I was sad, without nothing, nobody for close participating of my nostalgia. I cried. when they had dried the tears, I started to cry blood.

Soon I stopped to cry Therefore had finished the tears. Also the blood was esvaiu and I died for the half. A thing I only can affirm: He is that of as much sadness, I died smiling. my world finished In a pretty innocent smile, In a pretty one sings of bird. nostalgia finished. Until nostalgia it smiled Illuminating the sadness, As the sun illuminates the land In one morning of summer. I died smiling, Of sadness and solitude.