The land of the Abacaxi*  

The defilé goes by, that rock of lizards, peeking at everything that moves slightly. The birds in all colors, red, yellow, blue and green, here where God shone the light greener it seems and blessed the animals that creep, climb and fly. "Hello are you there? Onça? climb the tree, see the capybara on that river bank, the primal beast, whither go's that colony of ants? The jacaré, tamandoea and surucucú, laugh, laugh sloth way up high in your safe tree. See the forest people, with their pride they run, the Xavante the best runners of the forest, followed by many others with their skills. It's not a carnival train, it is the procession of space, freedom, away from the white humanity. Brazil, the lights of the fireflies, they shine to the the people of the trees, which searching for justice. Justice? Where's is that landlord who complains? But see the poor little homesteaders in their canvas tents along the country roads, people in tears, crying for their children who are malnourished. Brazilian gypsies, that they are, searching for the place that will be found and, see the Umbanda mother hung with beads in the color of her brother Oxum. Oh, old blacks give me you wisdom as you gave them to many others, gave them to the helpless of today, the people in the arid deserts of the Northeast.

Iracema give us the fire so that Brazil will once may sigh of relief, away from the tyrant his yoke, his privatization, his destruction. The fireflies dancing around the pot of beans of the the believers, those who think that this will brings relief. God is love, but He also can be cruel, unyielding. The sun will scorch the sertao and the emotions of *Cangagaceiros will be re-opened and sunrays will bring forward the day that *Antonio and the counselor shall preach again, because the melancholic man ever believed in a Messiah, a savior even if it is sometimes full of fatalisme. See the wrath of the great rivers, full of blood and poison, see the bald black stumps of the once so proud trees, the giants of the forest, our mother, the emerald of the earth. What they doing to her? The Amazone wood; poorly now in the name of money, of the full overfet egoists, in the name of consumption. See the parrots crying and screaming under the scorching flames, hell, in the green hell. No! Let us dream of a country that is worthy of her name. The goodness of the people who live for here for more than 40.000 years, today, not tomorrow, dogs with the tongue out of their jaw sigh for any compassion: but to whom?
Brazil looks at how the vultures try to eat, they are people in disguise, waiting for the corpse, still licking the last time. No, it's not a carnival defilé, it is the journey of the depressed dressed in the brightest colors imaginable, with animals as friends, and see the Makiritare, Kurripako, Wapishana, Wai -Wai, Apalai, Kayapó, Mundurucü, Catawishi, Yuma, Bocas Negras, Kawahib Cinta Larga, Nambikuara, Bororo, Xavante, Paressi, Sherente, Acroa, Shacriaba, Cuyavava Indians, they allready wearing their war paint, and see the oppressed homesteaders, in the land of the Abacaxi. * 

written and adapted by storyteller

*sweet smelling fruit

* canganceiros, kind of outlaws in the unsocial system of the north east

* Antonio Conselheiro, profet and leader of a movement back in the early 20th century in Canudos, where he and 20.000 followers were murdered by govermental militairy troops