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Tina Mucavele

Tina Mucavele
Mozambique

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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.

BIOGRAPHY

Tina Mucavele is a young Mozambican woman, social activist, writer and a mother of one son. She live... More >

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Insídia do tempo

 

No primeiro sonho 
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.

 

Depois sonho-te assim
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

 

Eu só queria que te importasses um pouco comigo

 

E no pesadelo um
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

 

Eu só queria que te importasses um pouco comigo

 

E no pesadelo 2
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

 

Eu só queria que te importasses um pouco comigo

 

E no pesadelo três, 
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.

 

E volto a sonhar-te,
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 finalmente, colocam pneus de tractor sobre o teu plexo solar 
e fósforos...
BOOM......
E o meu filho só saberá que és tu
quando encontrarem o cachimbo dourado!

Porque eu só queria que te importasses um pouco comigo

 

The chorus to the song says:
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

 

Dream 1:

I dream you human
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

I just wished you could care a little about me

Nightmare 1:

I flew in a time machine and ZAS!
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:

 

I just wished you could care a little about me

 

Nightmare 2:

you, your offspring and parasites, diving
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:

 

I just wished you could care a little about me

 

Nightmare 3:

You are a bogeyman, walk with
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

 

Dream 2:

I dream you again, taken by the curse
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

 

But I told you, I warned you

all I wished was that you could care a little about me

 

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