I refer to says as great poem Got here to have a tour Or paying that darkness Statement of a return to the country where I was born It isn't this poem that is first stated The power to conception nature My negritude is not a storm It definates some drawn against the clamour of the day My negritude is not a spec of dead water on the dead eye of it My negritude is neither a tower nor contiguous It shoot into the red flesh of the soil It trust in the warm flesh of the sky It base under the unpaid projection of it rivery picture (A i a) for the royal collect with that (A i a) for those who invented nothing For those who have never discovered For those who have never conquered But struck the evidence self to the essence of all things Ignore of citizens But taken by the very movement of things Not caring to conquer But playing the game of the world Truly the elder son of the world Pour us to all the breath of the world The tent of space Of all the breath of the world Ban without drain of all the waters in the world Spark of the sacred five of the world Flesh of the flesh of the world Painting with the very movement of the world, tempered thought of ancestral virtues Love blood All our blood spilled by the veil part of the sun Those who know the feminine nature of the moon's oil Flesh reconcile exaltation of the antelope and the star Those who survive on whose the determination of cracks (A i a) perfect circle of the world and closed coordinate hear the white Horrible fatigue by it's immense, it's rebellious articulations Cracked under the hard stars It's inflect abilities of blue steel, past the mystic flesh Here it's treacherous victorious trumpeting it defeats Here with brandio's alibis that beautiful stumbling (A i a) for greed and the others of reincarnated tears For those who explored nothing For those who never mastered A i a for joy A i a for love A i a for grief at the others of green carnivals Here at the end of the dawn is mine La la la That I may not hear the mental But it cries My eyes fixed on the city Which I prophesize shall be beautiful Give me the savage faith The sorcer give my hands the power to hold Give my soul to the source Now it a normal space And forces don't get us to the boss In a voice which places that not forgets The sting electrical marching And the voice declares the centuries of Europe Has stuffed us with lies and bloated is the pestilence But it not true that the word of man is finished And we have nothing to do in the world And we are parasites in the world And we have only to accept the way But the work of man has only begun