DER TERRORIST

"Podem ainda não estar a ver as coisas à superficie, mas por baixo já está tudo a arder"
- Y. B. Mangunwijaya, escritor indonésio, 16 de Julho de 1998.

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At the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month

por josé simões, em 11.11.22

At the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month

[Link na imagem]

At the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month

por josé simões, em 11.11.17

          In Flanders fields the poppies blow
          Between the crosses, row on row,
          That mark our place; and in the sky
          The larks, still bravely singing, fly
          Scarce heard amid the guns below.

          We are the Dead. Short days ago
          We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
          Loved and were loved, and now we lie
          In Flanders fields.

          Take up our quarrel with the foe:
          To you from failing hands we throw
          The torch; be yours to hold it high.
          If ye break faith with us who die
          We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
          In Flanders fields.

Remembrance Day

At the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month

por josé simões, em 11.11.16

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Remembrance Day

Guardar

O dia zero da barbárie

por josé simões, em 03.08.16

On this day in 1914, Germany declares war on France. Hours later, France declares war on Germany. Começava a Primeira Guerra Mundial.

||| In Flanders fields the poppies blow, Between the crosses, row on row

por josé simões, em 11.11.15

That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.