Tina Mucavele
This is a kind of dirge, mourning the kind of leadership that is prevalent – those in power camouflaged as revolutionary, as freedom fighters, and as concerned citizens and humanitarians while they lead lush lives of excess. Alternating between dreams of hopefulness and retribution, and nightmares of greed and desperation; Mucavele sends a chilling warning to those leaders who imagine/think that the looting can carry on without consequences.
Tina Mucavele is a young Mozambican woman, social activist, writer and a mother of one son. She live... More >
No primeiro sonho Depois sonho-te assim Eu só queria que te importasses um pouco comigo E no pesadelo um Eu só queria que te importasses um pouco comigo E no pesadelo 2 Eu só queria que te importasses um pouco comigo E no pesadelo três, E volto a sonhar-te, E finalmente, colocam pneus de tractor sobre o teu plexo solar Porque eu só queria que te importasses um pouco comigo The chorus to the song says: Dream 1: I dream you human I just wished you could care a little about me Nightmare 1: I flew in a time machine and ZAS! I just wished you could care a little about me Nightmare 2: you, your offspring and parasites, diving I just wished you could care a little about me Nightmare 3: You are a bogeyman, walk with Dream 2: I dream you again, taken by the curse But I told you, I warned you all I wished was that you could care a little about me
Eu sonho-te!
Sonho-te ser humano,
assim, a inchares o ventre de uma mulher.
Sonho-te assim, a romperes-lhe a carne
e pelo seu sangue, deslizares para o vento
receberes o beijo sol.
camuflado de guerrilheiro do povo.
Assim, correndo nas entranhas das florestas
reclamando uma independência que é
só para o negro aspirando a burguesia.
Mas lá de longe eu oiço essa voz
que reclama
Voei na máquina do tempo
E estas tu aqui, insidioso matador
de catana na mão, despedaçando sem dó
cada pedaço de terra de ouro
e de florestas reféns da preciosa madeira
e de mares de crustáceos
e redes de...de tubarões
e ilhéus e até céus.
Arrumas-lhes a tua mesa como
suculentos acepipes.
Mas lá no fundo, vindo da poeira do bairro
A voz que desde há 500 anos canta e reclama
Tu e teus rebentos e parasitas
mergulhando com as mãos ensanguentadas,
no banquete, fruto da carnificina
dos espíritos de um povo.
Enquanto lá fora as massarocas estão secas
e o batuque esta mudo.
Toca apenas uma mpandaza que ajuda
a celebrar a miséria da consciência,
a cegues da mente.
Mas da brisa do mar, esta cada vez mais forte e perto
Essa voz angustiada que grita
Tu és o bicho papão,
e caminhas com sapato xipanha uswa
açambarcando tudo que está no teu caminho.
Engoles tudo por todos os orifícios do teu corpo
Pontes! Rios! Barragens nacionais e multinacionais
Vejo-te gordo e mal cheiroso,
alheio as vibrações do magma empapado
destas gentes engolidas pela ignorância e complacência.
entregue a maldição dos espíritos.
Fantasmas depelam a tua carne em filete prós cães
Fantasmas exercem obstetrícias as tuas entranhas
Sai um rim
Sai um fígado
Implodem-se os pulmões
e fósforos...
BOOM......
E o meu filho só saberá que és tu
quando encontrarem o cachimbo dourado!
I just wish you were in my shelter during a storm
I just wish I could walk down the street holding hands with you
I just wished you could care a little about me
swelling the belly of a woman
and then I dream you, ripping her flesh
and through the warm blood, slide unto
the wind and be kissed by sun
and then I dream you, camouflaged
as the people's guerrilla
running through the guts of the forests
demanding an independence that is only for
aspiring black bourgeoisie
but I hear that voice from far away crying
you are here insidious killer, a machete on your hand
mercilessly dividing every piece of golden land
and forests, hostage of their precious wood
and seas of crustaceans, and networks ...
networks ...and shark net works
islets and heavens
you set these on your table, as succulent appetizers
but coming from the dust of the ghetto
the voice that for 500 years complains, is singing:
with bloody hands in the banquet
result of the carnage of spirits of a people
while it outside your palace
the corn is dry and the drum is dumb
plays only a pandza[1]
that helps celebrate
the misery of consciousness, blindness of the mind
but, from the sea breeze, that anguished voice comes closer:
xipanha-uswa shoes, hoarding
all that is in your way
swallowing from every orifice of your body
bridges, rivers, national dams and multinationals
I see you fat and smelly, oblivious
to the vibrations of the lava drenched with tears
tears of these people consumed by ignorance
and complacence
of suffering spirits
ghosts tear your meat in fillet for dogs
ghosts perform obstetrics in your bowels
rip a kidney, rip a liver, lungs implode
and finally, tractor tires on your solar plexus
matches and
BOOM!
.....
....
....
amidst the debris and stinking smoke
my son will only know it's you because ...
the will find the golden pipe