terça-feira, 15 de janeiro de 2013

A SANHA/ DE NHA/ NHANHA/



                                                                    

                                              A SANHA
                                              DA NHA
                                              NHANHA

      I                                                                                                    II
 A mamã                                                                                       Fugiu,
Mais bonita                                                                                Partiu
Do Planeta;                                                                                Bem distante
A chama                                                                                     Para a parte
Esplêndida                                                                                Incógnita,
Da vida!                                                                                    Incerta,
                                                                                                  Para não ver.
                                                                                                  Para não sofrer!
III                                                                                            IV
Falo dela                                                                               Se era fula,      
Com muita saudade                                                           Bijagó,
Como se a tivesse conhecido                                           Mancanha,
Em algum lado!                                                                  Biafada,
Dizem que era singela,                                                     Mandinga,
Com uma invulgar humildade.                                       Manjaca,
                                                                                             Fulupe,
                                                                                            Papel,
                                                                                            Diola
                                                                                           Ou Sussu,
                                                                                          Eu não sei.

V                                                                                                  VI
  Só sei                                                                                Hoje,
Que era uma guineense                                                Já feito
Genuína.                                                                           Um homem completo,
                                                                                           E da terra bem longe,
                                                                                           Já velho e caduco,
                                                                                           Na terra do branco,
                                                                                           Este manjaco
                                                                                           Sem mais troco ,
                                                                                           Só lhe dão soco,
                                                                                           Pontapés
                                                                                          De lés a lés
                                                                                          E sempre ao invés
                                                                                          Em cada flanco;
                                                                                         Dele, todos fazem pouco
                                                                                         Porque está (parece que ) num beco
                                                                                        Sem saída
                                                                                        Da vida.




VII                                                                                                              VIII

A  minha                                                                   Cinco décadas
Nhanha                                                                    Conquistadas
Esqueceu-se do seu filho,                                    Da vida,
Aquele que foi o se último gatilho                     é uma grande prenda,          
Na terra dos vivos,                                                Unanimemente  reconhecida
Na terra dos servos                                               Por todos.
De Deus,
Que hoje, também são seus.

IX                                                                                                  XII

Embora  não tendo                                         A agitação
Feito nada                                                        Em (de ) cada situação,
Na vida,                                                             É a perturbação
Pelo percurso agitado,                                   Do seu coração,
O filho de Nha                                                 A  negação
Nhana                                                               Da afirmação
Caminha,                                                         Do seu carácter
Sonha                                                              Como ser
Sempre com a esperança,                          No seu viver!                        
Apesar da desgraça
Que o acompanha
Em cada passo
E em cada piso.


XIII                                                                                                  XIV

Até a barraca                                                   O homem que não tem uma verdade absoluta,
A Câmara                                                          A sua luta,
Lhe tira,                                                            É  a conquista
Lhe arranca                                                     Diária
À força,                                                            A fim de minimizar a miséria
Deixando-o na desgraça,                              Que atinge a sua família,                 
Na plena miséria,                                           A vigília
Na plena penúria,                                           Involuntária                          
Na situação precária.                                     No seu quotidiano,
                                                                           Como peregrino
                                                                          Terreno!


Café polícia, Prior Velho ( Sábado ) , 09 de Abril de 2011.

                                                                   MATTOS  ( NDO )

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