Ali Baba

This chair where I spend the day

was still a young tree,

and these rocks beneath my feet

were underneath the mountain

when you came this way.

The shadow that protects me from the sun

had not yet found its form

when you were born.

When you built this house of stones,

I was a curious lad and watched you.

And I learned as I followed along.

Although I never learned your song.

When you made wine

you always shared it with me,

After a glass or two you’d say,

“Ali, this will be yours one day.”

I remember how you broke and carried

the stones that formed these walls you painted white.

And window bars you forged from damask steel and painted blue

as I would do,

were I you.

Then Brother Time came by and made his presence,

And Sister Changes also strolled our way,

Nothing stays, not even what our wishing rearranges,

Or even if we pray and pray.

And you were taken far, so far away.

Time always flies away…

And I grow old a little more each day,

And now I live inside my recollections,

sitting in the shadows, watching passers by.

Before my eyes I see only reflections

of the sun against a wall that was so white.

The grapes have dried and so has my intention

of ever sharing with you homemade wine.

“Goodbye Ali, goodbye young man, do prosper.”

You waved and then a cloud covered my eyes,

To block my sight from all those who formed clusters

waving with their strong arms goodbye.

I think of you picking the grapes you treasured…

But now I sit alone,

only my walking cane beside me,

My shadow’s disappeared and

I feel the bitter sadness that surrounds me but I’ve never conjured tears,

You know, I never cry,

I don’t know why…


In the Aegean section of Turkey, after WWI and the Turkish war of Independence, the population was exchanged. The Greeks were sent to the Greek islands and the Turks who lived in Greece were sent to Turkey. Both populations were uprooted and many friends never saw each other again.

I Went to War and then A Seagull

I went to war on St. John’s eve,

no summer’s rain, no summer’s breeze,

I thought I heard, above the clouds,

a voice that spoke but not too loud and said, “don’t leave.”

But should I listen to the wind?

I flew inside a firefly that roared then tumbled from the sky…

My ears were shattered with the thunder

while a million rays of light

that had shattered the dark night

broke the wings of our firefly.

Eventually, everything dies…

my eyes witnessed a circus in the air,

and then tree branches everywhere

and dust and grass and close, close friends,

floated and then disappeared again,

And then I vanished among trees…

I felt the pain of wounded knees,

As I walked to where I did not know, searching for destiny.

A river flowed silently towards me.

I wondered where my friends could be…

And far above me, above the trees

I saw a seagull watching me.

I saw and thought her wings were steel,

her feet machine guns,

Loaded with bullets that will burn and peel

away your skin and blood from bones, some things heal,

others never will.

As the bird flew circles neath the sun, I thought of home…

The seagull circled once alone

then another one beside her

tilted her head, her eyes were fire and flew towards me,

gaining speed in a deadly dive,

and I, now barely alive,

saw a falcon racing towards her

spitting fire from its beak

breaking the seagull’s white steel wings.

And with the strength that imminent death inspires

I started to crawl far from the fires

that had started to surround me.

One step and one more inch towards shelter

Beneath the canopy of green

I closed my eyes and thought if only this could be a dream

I would be home and sleeping,

while from everywhere my blood is seeping and the night

is as dark as a midnight sun, black against a clear blue sky.

And then some hands came forth to grab me,

they seemed so kind, so strong and clean

and I thought, yes, a dream,

I’ve often dreamed of seagulls it seems

and of fireflies tumbling from the sky

on St. John’s Eve, of summer’s gone by…

Far Away there is no Sun

I went out to the street one day,

to look, to smell, to breathe, to pray,

to reach out to a passing man and say,

friend can you show me the way,

because I come from far, so far away…

I went out to the fields one afternoon,

To look, to smell, to breathe, to roam

as if these fields were now my home,

as if this were where I belong,

Somewhere above, somewhere on top, or far below…

I walked out to a sandy beach,

my hands outstretched a wave did reach,

the salty spray, the salty air, the perfect niche,

where ions flow but never preach,

Yet in your spirit, body, soul you feel there’s peace…

The day seem endless,

the streets are empty,

the fields have faded,

the beach invaded,

and I feel slightly jaded,

The sun has not created

no, not a single ray,

and I have come from far,

from so far away.


“Sunrise over Ilica, Turkey August 2019”

The Sun is passing through the sky,

Eternal circle. It is morning.

His unending cycle reminds me that what is,

can also be, or seems to be just Life.

Recalling what I once remembered,

I forget the needless details

and forge new memories.

To recall is to forget,

and that too is a cycle endless and

a never ending stream springs from a single thought

perhaps part of a dream

that once recalled is immediately forgotten.

I awake and see the sun, he’s so

majestic, never rushes.

He takes his time to warm my bones,

to warm my seas, to make my green earth


And I wonder if the Sun will ever changes his course

and make the polar caps, silent neath their tears of icy white,

Become green gardens in some years.

The years that pass, as the sun is passing now, leaving my line of sight

to push aside, but with a gentle kiss, the moonlight night.

Art, Creativity and the Black Line…Drawing with Jazz

For me, it all begins with the black line. The catalyst for creation lives deep inside the mind. It forces the synapses of the neurons and the message is transmitted from brain to arm to fingers and fingers to pencil or brush. The pencil must obey the command and the first command is to create a strong, rich and “living” black line upon the paper or the canvas. From there, improvisation will do the rest.

Above are three drawings that I have included in my “JaZzArt en Valencia” series of 2019. Actually, the one in the middle, “Jazz Frente al Muro,” (Jazz against the wall) I started back in 2016 while on holiday in Turkey. I returned this year, liked what I had done and finished it. They are all done with several different pencils, (usually 6,7,8,9B) and India Ink on acid free paper.

Those three above are created in the same manner but painted with either oils or acrylics on a canvas or a wood block. The intention is the same. The black line is still prominent, clear, precise. It does not interfere with the composition. It creates a “living” space for the composition to develop.

For example, think of the guitar solos of Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton and Jimi Hendrix, they started playing to the rhythmic pattern behind them and created their melodic progressions as they played. That is part of the definition of what Jazz is. That is what those that form my compositions do with the black line. It gives depth and a sense of dimensions to the piece.

Try exploring the use of the black line. Let the energy flow. Let your creativity be the guiding force. Allow your thoughts to form images. Be free from the restrictions. Art is not what it is “supposed” to be. Art is. The artist has the creation in the mind and all he has to do is to let the process begin. The process of creativity can be thought of as spiritual, esoteric, metaphysical or simply chemical.

If you are interested in seeing more of my work, please visit my Instagram @Francisco_Bravo_Cabrera and my online galleries featuring “JaZzArt en Valencia 2019” at

You can also look me up on YouTube:


Mis Lechuzas de Valencia 2019

Lechuza “Noche” y “Dia”

Mis Lechuzas

De Valencia, aunque no lo parezcan son “JaZzArt en Valencia”

Forma y Significado

 Mis Lechuzas de Valencia

Sin esfuerzo y sin pensarlo, con el pincel en los labios y el vino tinto en los dedos…

El pintor…el artista…nunca va de prisas, al contrario, reconoce que le es mejor andar con pasos lentos, deteniéndose a menudo a explorar el entorno para así fijarse bien en el todo que lo rodea.  Yo, particularmente, alucino al andar por la ciudad, recorriendo las calles, disfrutando, a gran escala, de la gente, de la arquitectura, de los colores, venga, de todo lo que me cabe en los ojos.  A veces solo salgo a beber el aire, el aire que ha recorrido por saber cuántos recovecos y se ha rozado con tantas gentes, o a masticar la naturaleza y a bailar al ritmo del vaivén de los coches que pasan a prisa por las avenidas o los que van lentamente por las callejuelas de mi ciudad.  A mi todo me resulta interesante pues cada día amanezco en un mundo nuevo.  Así es Valencia, a mi juicio…

Así le abro los ojos a mis lechuzas…

Yo no necesito modelos para pintar un cuadro, jamás las utilizo.  Los modelos están en mi cabeza.  Mi inspiración es la naturaleza.  La amo, la admiro, considero que es la vida…por eso nunca pinto bodegones, pues son la nature mort…la que me sirve de modelo, pero sobretodo de ejemplo.  Mi pintura no es abstracta aunque algunos la consideren así.  No puedo ser pintor abstracto ya que mi filosofía del arte me lo prohíbe.  La teoría del arte abstracta sostiene que el pintor se basa, se guía o reproduce algo cuya referencia es interna, y eso me suena a uñas arañando al pizarrón.  De ser así, la referencia de estos pintores son los garabatos y las manchas y de ahí surgen lienzos blancos con líneas, o sea, no mucho.  Podéis notarlo claramente en la pintura de Joan Miró.  No quiero ser antagónico así que pido perdón a los amantes del arte abstracta y más a los que la hacen.  Pero yo pinto el realismo que veo con los ojos internos, que son parte de la naturaleza.  No es cuestión de imaginación.  Creo que decir que tengo gran imaginación es una tontería porque ciertamente la tengo, como la tenéis, como la tenemos todos, aunque algunos no quieran saber nada de ella.  Pero no me baso en la imaginación porque carece de arte y es muy indisciplinada.  No puedo contar con ella cuando más la necesito así que paso de ella.

Les dejo ver los cielos por donde vuelan y el bosque que tienen cerca…

Tan cerca del mar; tan lejos las penas…

Cuando me pongo a dibujar o a pintar, abro los ojos interiores del subconsciente y dejo que ese duende creativo, ese espíritu que vive en ese espacio misterioso, me guíe.  Así me sucede siempre que cuando termino no puedo creer lo que he hecho.  Me quedo alucinando al ver lo que he dibujado y me pregunto que ¿cómo coño pude hacerlo?  Mientras dibujo, no soy el artista sino el vehículo, y la fuente de toda esa creatividad, habilidad técnica y artística, pues ni puta idea donde está.  Algo sobrenatural e increíblemente creativo me mueve y me guía las manos.  De tal manera, a través de los años, he creado en mi obra un mundo alegórico que aloja a muchos personajes, a cosas inusuales…en el mundo nuestro…a instrumentos musicales, a bailadores y bailadoras.  Pero aun así, nada de lo que hago es abstracto y en mi obra siempre sobresaldrán las formas naturales.  Las veréis, en particular, en los cuerpos humanos, los animales que fácilmente reconoceréis y en el hecho de que si os fijáis bien notareis que todo lo que dibujo o pinto forma parte intrínseca del mundo natural.  A este mundo lo llamo, simplemente, “JaZzArt.”  Surge de la espontaneidad artística, se mueve por golpes improvisados y tiene ritmo.  Al fin y al cabo soy amante del Jazz, y las anteriores son las características de este género musical.  Vivo el jazz de la vida y la convierto en arte, ¿habrá mejor manera de unir las piezas de este puzzle? 

Las visto de palomas y de gárgolas, las llamo noche y día sin desalarlas…

En estos días, el JaZzArt ha adquirido un camino nuevo…gracias a la improvisación…que supongo debe llamarse “JaZzArtValencia” pues es donde lo hago; es la ciudad donde vivo.  España es la tierra del arte, no digo que sea la única pues creo que el arte abunda in orbis, pero bueno, para mí, España es de vital importancia, siendo la tierra de Pablo Picasso.  No soy de origen valenciano, pero he elegido Valencia para vivir por muchas razones personales, pero también por su clima, por su exquisita comida, por su gente maravillosa y porque en Valencia hay mar, el Mediterráneo que la besa, como dijo Nino Bravo.  En la Comunitat Valenciana hay sol y hay montañas y abundan los colores.  Por doquier los naranjos, con sus frutas arropadas entre hojas verdes, adornan las avingudas y les dan un toque tropical.  Los viejos edificios de Ruzafa…el barrio de moda en la uribis capitalina…me suelen parecer gente de hormigón con ojos de fierros tallados y vidrio, luciendo sus fachadas de colores pasteles, cada una con rasgos similares pero que a la vez son tan únicas.  Al frente exhiben sus terrazas, dandole espacio a los bares, que a la sombra de cerezos y almendros, alimentan a los que buscan conversación o soledad, con tapas y refresquen la sed del pueblo con cañas, dobles o tercios, o un gintonic.   Así son las calles que ya tanto estoy queriendo.

Les he dado la fuerza de un temporal otoñal…

Con una gota de orujo pérdida en la gota fría…

Pues, venga, sin más prolegómenos, os presento, LAS LECHUZAS NOCHE Y DIA.  Pintadas en acrílico sobre tela, miden veinte centímetros por cincuenta.  ¿Podríais decirme cual es cual?  Una el sol, la otra la luna.  Una el ying y la otra el yang.  Son dos veces la realidad, un doble de dualismo.  ¿Será que he logrado llevar la realidad al cuadrado?  Esto no se logra todos los días.  Pero bueno, no importa, lo que cuenta es el impacto que hará en vosotros.  Sospecho que estos cuadros os entrarán por los ojos, pero recordad que los ojos les transmiten poemas visuales al alma…

Y el calor del Caribe, eterno manantial…

Los colores son la profundidad de la obra, le brindan la calidad, la perspectiva y le añaden vida.  Vale, esto me imagino que ya lo sabíais pero es bueno repetir las cosas para que queden bien grabadas en la mente subconsciente.  Esto lo digo para que no vayáis a pensar que estos cuadros son meramente decorativos.  ¡Au contraire! ¡Los cuadros para decorar las paredes a buscarlos en IKEA!  Hay que saber diferenciar la magnesia de la gimnasia y también ser capaces de reconocer ciertos aspectos claves de la pintura.  Son aquellas pequeñas cosas…como dijo Joan Manuel Serrat…las que realmente hacen que un cuadro tenga valor artístico o que sea una reverenda porqueria.  Y creedme, en muchos museos del mundo hay cuadros que son admirados, hasta reverenciados, y no valen un duro de valor artístico.

Manantial de aguas templadas y frutas podridas al sol, algas en las verdes aguas y ron…

Quiero que a Mis Lechuzas de Valencia las disfrutéis como disfrutáis de mejillones y berberechos en los chiringuitos de la Barceloneta, o en vuestra playa favorita.  Una aventura visual os tiene que acompañar cuando pongáis ojos sobre estos cuadros.  Que su impacto os llegue hasta el alma.  Que os mueva el corazón y no el culo, y entonces hablaremos.  Tened en cuenta que mi deber de artista no me obliga a ser ni intérprete ni historiador.  Esas cosas se las dejo a los académicos y a los historiadores…yo soy historiador también, pero autodidacta…que suelen usar sus estudios para analizar los conocimientos…y también los estudios…de otros.  Yo, como artista, me limito a masticar el mundo que me rodea para luego crear.  Me dejo transformar en la herramienta y pinto para que otros puedan ver lo que he visto.  No quiero explicar lo que he pintado, ni lo que he dejado de pintar.  El arte es para disfrutar con los ojos, el corazón se encarga de lo demás.  Como he dicho, pinto la naturaleza que me rodea…de cierta forma…transformándola en arte, pues como dijo el gran director de teatro ruso, Konstantin Stanislavsky, la emoción en su estado crudo no es arte.  El arte contiene verdades trabajadas por la habilidad y la creatividad del artista.  Es naturaleza a mi manera. Como mejor os lo voy a explicar.  Además, en el caso mío, es jazz para los ojos.

No quiero gastar palabras…no quiero gastar aliento…para que no sea la baba lo que surja del intento.

Bodo Francesco Vespaciano, Valencia, 20 de abril de 2019,

Siendo este un lluvioso sábado santo…el lamento de las cofradías y el doble sufrir de los nazarenos y un domingo de resurrección muy frío, ventoso y nublado.  Gracias a Dios por la vida.  

My Private Highway on the Mountain Trails of Far Away

This poem carries a video clip I recorded a few years ago. It is a ten minute meditation that you can do as you watch the sun slowly rising over the Aegean waters. The soundtrack is from a CD I made called “Silencios” (Silences). The poem was inspired by the thoughts that the rising sun brought to my mind.

I become the first rays as the sun peeks above the mountain.

The first rays to light the sky

As seagulls fly.

I accompany the light breeze that gently caresses the surface of the waters far below,

I am the glow.

I am the essence of the yellow ball,

I am the call that awakens nature,

I am that yellow flow of heaven that peeks into your sleepy eyes. And you, with a great effort, you force them to open. You will them to see. You recognise my face,

for now I rule your space…

I am the brother of the Moon,

The son of Mother Earth.

I travel on the ancient roads

paved above existence,

and I circle with my wings of fire

the place that you call home, the careful life you live.

I heat the air you breathe.

I have built highways where you’ve paved your trails, and fountains where you’ve dug your graves,

I’ve known you from your birth,

Above my private mountain, I sail daily ’round the Earth.

I am not bound by philosophies or science,

no laws do I observe,

or follow or obey

I travel far and only stop to pray.

“JaZzArt en Valencia” My Quest for Peace, Love, Tolerance Everywhere

“Lechuza de Russafa” acrylic on wood 20 x 20 cm
(private collection, Spain)

“I’m looking through you, where did you go…” (from the song “I’m Looking Through You” by Lennon/McCartney, from the Beatles Rubber Soul Album 1965). This little owl, the “Lechuza de Russafa,” (Owl of Russafa,” a neighbourhood of Valencia), has become my little symbol of love and understanding. I have decided the little owl will represent my jazz art effort titled “JaZzArt en Valencia.”

I want to bring awareness to our immediate global need for change. We need to work for justice. We need to work to make our voices…small voices without the privilege of power…count, be heard and make a difference. We need to come back to some basic realities, like “love thy neighbour” and “treat others as you would like others to treat you.” Love and peace are lofty ideals, but tolerance is something that needs to be practised every day and in every way.

We cannot wait too long to begin to work for change. We cannot delay the work to make life on Earth better. Time is passing so very fast. Some things, like rain forests and glaciers can be lost forever. In the song I quoted above, The Beatles…actually Paul…reminds us that “…love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight.” And you can substitute the word love for peace, for civilisation, for the planet itself.

So, what is “JaZzArt en Valencia.” At the moment it is a dream. But dreams can conjure realities. To make something come alive, energy, effort and pain are necessary catalysts. Therefore I am not concerned. JaZzArt will come alive in Valencia, soon. I will make the effort, exert the energy and suffer the pain, if need be. But with “a little help from my friends,” and God’s blessings, the dream will come true.

For the moment I would like to share with you some of my work. These drawings and paintings are part of what I call, in a general sense, “JazzArt.” They share a similar theme but differ in composition. But they are all done in accordance to the principles that define Jazz. They follow the “Golden Rule,” being the definition that a great man such as Louis Armstrong used to define Jazz to the world.

Basically three ingredients are in the mix: Improvisation, rhythm and the performer as composer/creator. My drawings begin with a simple line, then I improvise the rest. I create a central figure that will dominate the composition and at the same time add to it. Then there’s the rhythm. It is there but in ways that only you, the spectator can…and certainly will…discover it.

Reference “JaZzArt en Valencia.” The intention is to create an event that will unite music, art, poetry, dance and as well, all those who work for peace, love and justice in the world. Be it via documentaries, films, performances, literature et cetera.

I invite those that are working and living those intentions to come, speak and teach at the event. To hold workshops. To give Master Classes. To encourage by reaching out. I want the media to come, the elected officials, the Non-Governmental Organisations. And I want to do it in Valencia…it’s where I live but it is…and should be…a travelling show.

Above are a sample of the jazz drawings I have been developing for a few years intending to make them part of the project and the collection “JaZzArt en Valencia.”

And let me just add that Valencia is a perfect city to kick off such a project.

Valencia is Mediterranean city with, in my opinion, the best climate in the Iberian peninsula. The summers…although it may get real hot some days…are rather balmy if you compare them with Madrid or Zaragoza. The winters are not as freezing cold as in the north of Spain or as rainy as in the northwest or other parts of the country.

Valencia has a park, “Jardines del Turia,” which is one of the largest city parks in Europe. The old riverbed of the Turia River has been converted into gardens, walking, running and bicycle paths, football fields, rest areas, bars, cafes, restaurants and basically an incredible place to spend leisure time. And you can still walk under the bridges that were built centuries ago. In the “river” as we call it, festivals are held as well as many weekend events of all kinds. It’s an incredible park and a perfect place for “JaZzArt en Valencia.” Look at the map below, and where you see that green line, slithering like a snake around the city, that is the “river.”

Here are some of my colour representations of “JazzArt.” All these are from this year, 2019 and painted in my studio/gallery located in Ruzafa, (see map).

I wanted to add this video clip I did back in 2013 for the “Bakero” project in Miami Beach, Florida, USA. It is a song which I like to play that exemplifies what “Jazz” is all about for me. It won’t remind you of your favourite jazz piece from Coltrane or Miles but it was made following the Jazz “formula” I described previously. The song, “ARANAKI” was created from a rhythmic pattern and a chord progression. I then laid on the improvisation with my electric guitar, (Gibson Les Paul), creating a progression of notes that went forming the melody as the song went forwards. The bass player and the keyboards maintained the same rhythm as the percussion.

The artwork I did back in the mid-two thousands for a collection called “Mofetas,” (racoons). The photography is from my times in New Orleans and Paris.

I hope you have liked what you have seen and read. I thank you very much for your likes, shares and follows. I am very interested in forming communities and joining them as well. Let’s talk about art, let’s get discussions going.

If you think well of my idea for a happening such as “JaZzArt en Valencia,” please comment, write me, tell me all about what you would add to it and how and about your own ideas. I am looking for moral support, encouragement, perhaps assistance, participation, collaboration, thoughts…both for and against…painters, artists, poets, dancers, performers, jazz lovers, lovers and players of 60’s/70’s rock…Jimi Hendrix, Clapton, Led Zeppelin, Cream, Santana,Traffic, et al…which used the jazz formula many times to create tremendous jams. I am looking for everything and anything! ALL IS GREATLY APPRECIATED! I await your reply.




“El Conguero” acrylic/oil on canvas 60 x 52 cm

“When the truth is found to be lies…” shouted Grace Slick back in 1967 with so much urgency, “and all the joy within you dies…” yes, definitely an urgent cry. Then the ultimate question, “don’t you want somebody to love…” and the conclusion, “you better find somebody to love.”

The summer of 1967 was the famous “Summer of Love.” All the “hippies” came together in San Francisco to celebrate the birth of the counterculture. More than one hundred thousand. Haight-Ashbury filled with the smell of people, the smell of flowers, the sweet smell of Mary Jane.

The hippies came to Mount Tamalpais, north of San Francisco, for peace, to celebrate love and to protest the Vietnam War. People went to dance, to move to the rhythms of Canned Heat, the Doors and the Jefferson Airplane. Psychedelic sounds filled the atmosphere and caressed their young minds. They came in their VW campervans with flowers in their hair. The hope was to promote, with intensity and with urgency, the love that should exist, the love that we should share.

It is important to note that Mount Tamalpais was left by the hippies exactly as they had found it when they left after the concert…

But we are very far from the sixties. We are very far from summers of love. We are not just far because it has been fifty two years. We are far because we have changed course. We lost many of those who sang about love, about truth, about the indignities of unnecessary wars. We lost those who would protest with flowers in their hair. I wonder if they are playing rock and roll in Heaven.

But we are in the new millennium. This is the future. Our music now speaks of violence. Our rhythms now reflect a violent state of mind. Our wars now are not seen as unnecessary. We don’t protest. We accept. We don’t fill a mountain with people celebrating love anymore. We don’t even clean up after we march with pride in the streets of Madrid…

So, in spite of our technically advanced world, our smart mobile phones, our AI, our GPS, our computerised homes, cars, planes, lives, I ask, have we found truth? Or is the truth in this new futuristic world still found to be lies?


I chose my painting of “El Conguero” or “The Conga Player” to illustrate these thoughts because of it’s colours and how they come together and separate. How the colours in the painting help create and give energy to the principal element of the composition, the conga player. I believe that colours transmit emotion, energy and help us reach some kind of spirituality, the proper one that suits us, naturally.

I reckon you have understood that I am a faithful follower and lover of the music of the sixties, seventies, eighties and partially of the nineties. I grew up during the sixties and came of age in the early seventies. Although I am not from the US, I lived in the US at the time. In the early seventies I confronted many of the things that were part of our world, like the Vietnam War. I was too young to go to the Summer of Love. But although I was a young teenager at the time, I loved what was happening. I felt a part of it all. And without sounding nostalgic, I really miss those days.

I write. I paint. I compose, play and sing my own music. And I dance. I have come to believe that even in this highly technical, advanced and computerised world of the two thousands we can still feel the energy, the love and the camaraderie that existed on this earth just a few decades ago. It is still the same planet where the hippies danced, protested and loved. The material vanishes, the memories linger but the spirit is forever…

This painting, “El Conguero,” is in a private collection in the United States. If you would like to see more of my artwork, please visit my Instagram @Francisco_Bravo_Cabrera and


Amazon Fire and Anger

What do I care what a logger in Brasil earns
While the rain forest burns...

What do I care if you want extravagant wood
When so many around this world go without food...

What do I care if you want to drive a fancy car
When there are many who cannot go so far...

I see how progress has destroyed so much
of our fragile earth.
living things that won't return,
rain forests we will never see again
and what's the gain?

I'm sick and tired of hearing how industries must prosper
while poverty, disease, homelessness and despair
is growing everywhere.

I'm sick and tired of politicians who tell us that big business must always post a gain,
while children die of malnutrition, HIV and AIDS, again and again.

I'm sick of lies that flow careless out of the mouths of leaders in our countries,
while they imprison children and tear their mothers away,
When the efforts of those who would seek a better life you confuse with criminality,
you and those like you, are our calamity.

It’s time to come back to reality. They are burning the lungs of the Earth.

The president of Brasil had promised the loggers that he would not interfere with their business and would allow for their growth. The only way they can grow and develop their logging industry is to destroy the rain forests, cutting down the trees and harming, perhaps irreparably, the ecosystems that live in those trees and depend on them as well. I believe they’ve not the right. The planet belongs to all and it is time we all did something to try to change the pattern of progress. Think for yourself. I am sure you can find something you can do as well.