Um papo reto com João que, distraído, nada nunca viu / A straight talk with João who, distracted, never saw it coming

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Eu bem que te falei, João, que o olhar de esgueira que te lançavam era pro teu ser se inexistir, era pra tua pessoa minguar até deixar de ser pessoa de sentimento inteiro. Porque pra eles teu ser valia mesmo só pro trabalho mais duro que nenhum deles labuta. Eu também te avisei, João, que iriam bater com a porta na tua cara, uma, duas, três, um montão de vezes, e que só te restaria arrombar a última porta antes de morrer de frio na calçada. E agora, aqui, te convoco pra te dizer que a borracha que voou nas tuas costas, que a humilhação com que vestiram a tua pele preta e que a bala que varou a tua cabeça abriram um vazio tão grande na gente, tão sem juízo de tudo, João, que só restou pro teu povo gritar até arrebentar os’pulmão de raiva: “vai ter volta, burguesada!”

Humberto Foz

I told you, João, that the sneaky look they gave you was for your being didn't even exist, it was for your person to wane until you were no longer a person with a whole feeling. Because for them your being was only worth for the hard work they don’t want to do. I also told you, João, that the door would be slammed at your face, once, twice, three times, a lot of times, and that you would only have to break down the last door before you died of cold on the sidewalk. And now, here, I have to tell you that the rubber that flew on your back, that the humiliation with which they wore your black skin and that the bullet that went through your head opened such a big void on us, for so senseless they were, João, that all that was left for your people was to scream until the lung burst with anger: “I’ll get my own back, bourgeois!”

Humberto Foz

© Tete Silva. Todos os direitos reservados.

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