speaks the part of me that still believes in the spring and autumn, which parks the car in the third row in front of the policeman who stops and observes a child laughs, we believe forever until the evidence did not awaken, but he believes that no faith, who forgets to be recalled again, drinking black coffee, which is indignant, that lifts, that one day and a pure wonder, still hoping.
Speak, but would like to scream.
After more than thirty 'years of guerrilla and terrorist attacks, 18 May 2009 the war in Ceylon closes. The war is over, declares the state. 70 000 deaths, mostly civilians, are perhaps seemed enough. I hear the news for the event, Radio24 on the same day. TG to bust the announcer does not say a single word. In the newspaper the next day, a few small blurb or anything. Last night I turn TV, Ballarò , we talk about the sex lives of our Prime Minister. The question arises: how is it that in recent months can speak only of this? History of novelettes by four soldiers, those printed on poor quality paper, cover yellowed, even if new, grammatical errors, or missing printed pages in half. Yes, ok, I grant you, are events that occurred "the other side of the world" (the says my grandmother), we are interested in our. But how can all the wars, natural disasters, disputes occurred "elsewhere" to play second fiddle life sexsualis of one man? They must wait for disaster. And maybe not even enough for that. Every single day, something happens in Calcutta as Acitrezza , such as Alba Cape Town , Arcore as Washington , and I do not know anything. We rejoice and cry, live and die everywhere, but perhaps not everyone knows that. And since I can not be everywhere, expect that someone will tell me the stories of others. But that someone often forget, or you want to forget, and choose for me what I gotta know. I have to laugh a bit, 'even though I know I should not.
that the world is all a big joke?
postscript: the end of the war in Ceylon me a little 'shock, no more hoping. During this time I cried for every Sri Lankan who left us, of whatever ethnicity, and religion. I was hoping, alas, a bit 'more information. I'm still doubtful. But part of me that hopes there is still talked about today.
Speak, but would like to scream.
After more than thirty 'years of guerrilla and terrorist attacks, 18 May 2009 the war in Ceylon closes. The war is over, declares the state. 70 000 deaths, mostly civilians, are perhaps seemed enough. I hear the news for the event, Radio24 on the same day. TG to bust the announcer does not say a single word. In the newspaper the next day, a few small blurb or anything. Last night I turn TV, Ballarò , we talk about the sex lives of our Prime Minister. The question arises: how is it that in recent months can speak only of this? History of novelettes by four soldiers, those printed on poor quality paper, cover yellowed, even if new, grammatical errors, or missing printed pages in half. Yes, ok, I grant you, are events that occurred "the other side of the world" (the says my grandmother), we are interested in our. But how can all the wars, natural disasters, disputes occurred "elsewhere" to play second fiddle life sexsualis of one man? They must wait for disaster. And maybe not even enough for that. Every single day, something happens in Calcutta as Acitrezza , such as Alba Cape Town , Arcore as Washington , and I do not know anything. We rejoice and cry, live and die everywhere, but perhaps not everyone knows that. And since I can not be everywhere, expect that someone will tell me the stories of others. But that someone often forget, or you want to forget, and choose for me what I gotta know. I have to laugh a bit, 'even though I know I should not.
that the world is all a big joke?
postscript: the end of the war in Ceylon me a little 'shock, no more hoping. During this time I cried for every Sri Lankan who left us, of whatever ethnicity, and religion. I was hoping, alas, a bit 'more information. I'm still doubtful. But part of me that hopes there is still talked about today.
