quinta-feira, 4 de setembro de 2014

ALMOST LIKE THE BLUES



As associações do acaso são sempre as mais sedutoras. Hoje, procurava na crónica de John Cassidy na New Yorker que acabava de chegar ao meu Ipad algum rumo para entender esta trama do Estado Islâmico e tentar perceber qual vai ser a posição futura dos Estados Unidos e surgiu-me este poema de Leonard Cohen, lido na sua voz cavernosa.
Afinal, uma forma diferente de sentir esta trama de violência gratuita que oculta uma espécie de guerra de civilizações, em que o Islão mais retrógrado persiste em colocar o ocidente no alvo como inimigo principal.
A desigualdade é manifesta. A tolerância ocidental, combinada com práticas reais de segregação cultural, acolhe no seu seio futuros jihadistas, mesmo que estes, está documentado, representem uma ínfima parte do recrutamento potencial da Jihad.

I saw some people

There was murder, there was rape                                         

Their villages were burning                                                      

They were trying to escape                                                      

 I couldn’t meet their glances

 I was staring at my shoes                                                        

It was acid, it was tragic                                                           

It was almost like the blues



I have to die a little                                                                   

Between each murderous thought                                         

And when I’m finished thinking                                               

I have to die a lot                                                                       

There’s torture and there’s killing                                           

There’s all my bad reviews                                                       

The war, the children missing                                                  

Lord, it’s almost like the blues



I let my heart get frozen                                                           

To keep away the rot                                                                

My father said I’m chosen

My mother said I’m not                                                           

I listened to their story                                                             

Of the Gypsies and the Jews                                                    

It was good, it wasn’t boring                                                   

It was almost like the blues



There is no G-d in heaven                                                         

And there is no Hell below                                                       

So says the great professor                                                      

Of all there is to know                                                              

But I’ve had the invitation                                                        

That a sinner can’t refuse

And it’s almost like salvation                                                   

It’s almost like the blues

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