sábado, 1 de abril de 2017

FLORES NA ESPLANADA

Por Paccelli José Maracci Zahler


ADEUS BRA$ILIA... (21 DE ABRIL DE 2009)

Por Gustavo Dourado (Taguatinga, DF)

Vamos preservar Brasília
Parar de e$pecular
B$B Imobiliária
Sem horizonte no ar
O Cerrado que se foi
Haja ap para alugar

JK geme no túmulo
Na Brasília Capital
O crime a fazer escola
No Distrito Federal
O povo vive na esmola
Passa fome cultural

Lúcio Costa nos deu asas
Para Brasília avoar
As asas foram cortadas
Tanto carro a trafegar
Cidade fora dos Eixos
Só tesoura a nos cortar

Niemeyer nos subterrâneons
Pelos túneis da cidade
Falta estacionamento
Sobra criminalidade
Urbi automobalística
Perdeu a mobilidade

Para que tanto edifício?!
Pra tudo dificultar
Tem carro pra todo lado
Já não dá pra pedalar
Morrem flores e nascentes
Com a poluição do ar

O luxo que gera o lixo
Morte na Estrutural
O verde some do mapa
Sem Eixo Monumental
O tronco parali$ado
E a cabeça maquinal

Filas duplas, buzinaços
A morte do urbanismo
Desemprego, amargura
O velho clientelismo
Corrupção lá nas nuvens
Prolifera-se o cini$mo

Haja tapinhas nas costas
Nhem nhem nhem e blablabá
Foi-se embora a siriema
Adeus ao lobo guará
As cobras se multiplicam
Nas margens do Paranoá



FLORES NA ESPLANADA 2

Por Paccelli José Maracci Zahler




WINDMILLS

By Arjun Singh Bhati (Jaisalmer, India)

One morning I was sitting in one of my classrooms. A
student came to me from the roadside. The boy was very
excited and in a great hurry to give the news to me and all
the students.
“Big fan,” he cried with surprise. The students looked
at him. He was pointing toward the road and crying, “big
fan” again and again. We all came out of the classroom and
looked toward the road, which was about half a kilometer
from the school building. To our surprise there were some
big trucks on the road, carrying some unusual things, very
big white fans; such fans we had never seen before. We
rushed to the road. The boys were very eager to touch the
big giants. We were all seeing these big machines for the
first time, and within half an hour, several villagers came
to see them. It was like a local fair. Then, after just an hour,
the trucks departed from our village.
Now all the villagers and my students had a new
subject to talk about. I heard lots of interesting stories
about these windmills. After some months some windmills
were installed on a small hill about five kilometers from
our village. I had an idea that it was for electricity. Soon
it became clear that hundreds of windmills were being
installed to generate electricity. There are no big factories
and industries in Jaisalmer. This was the first big project in
the area, and it gave a lot of employment to the local people.
It happened about seven years previously, but some of
the stories I heard from my innocent students and villagers
are still in my memory.
I explained in the class that these “fans” were here to
generate electricity through the wind. But a student in class
seven told me another story. “It is very hot here, and the
government is installing these fans for cool wind.” Another
said, “We suffer from malaria every year, and these fans
would produce a particular type of sound. And the sound
keeps the mosquitoes away from us.”
But the most surprising story was told by one of my
girl students in class six. The girl told the class that her
grandfather said, “It is not raining here because these
windmills scatter the clouds, and as a result we face
drought.”
Although it seemed quite ridiculous, I could understand
the different opinions and views of uneducated and
innocent villagers. Well, finally, I took all my students to
the project site, and an engineer explained the working
system of the windmills to us. It was a really interesting and
useful lesson for all of the students.

MUDA

Por Pedro Du Bois (Balneário Camboriú, SC)

Minha boca muda
conversas inúteis
  
mudo 
em calado espectro
dos dias cheios

mudo

no olhar súplice
de novos assuntos

mudo

perdido mundo
do que me dizem


sobre outros dos demais
que nem conheço: desconheço
pelo que dizem


muda minha boca permanece

no dia passado em música.

MUTE

By Pedro Du Bois (Balneário Camboriú, SC)

 (Marina Du Bois, English Version)

My mute mouth
useless conversations

mute
in silent spectrum
of full days
mute
in supplication looking
at new subjects
mute
lost world
of what they tell me

about others
I do not even know: I do not know
why they are saying

mute my mouth remains

on the day spent in music.

HORDAS

Por Pedro Du Bois (Balneário Camboriú, SC)

Hordas
poeira sobre os olhos
no caminho invadido

a morte na sombra


hordas invadem
nossa ignorância
ao pecar o não saber


a morte no escuro pó
em que se transforma o dia
  

hordas de invasores
exigem sabermos as razões

no significado das nossas mortes.