This, is how I remember Mestre Moraes.

His movements perfectly timed, his vision, unmatched.
Like an eagle playing with its prey.
No room for error.
So sure of every movement, so precise in every attack.
His confidence was his aura, empowering the roda, bewildering those surrounding.
I could feel his work inside of me.
The importance of his life in front of me.
His presence overwhelmed all of me-
A giant amongst men.

I felt in the middle of a war,
moraes leading the rebellion.
Fighting the anarchy that has arisen,
that has brought more problems than solutions.

He was preparing his students for war.
For the harsh world beyond.
In all its malicia and beauty.
The world is always different,
through the eyes of an angoleiro.

He struck his berimbau as if angry at it.
Fighting it, in all its beauty.
Each note to drive the next.
Such power in his gunga.
His face glaring,
alight with fire.
His berimbau cried, triggering voices out of control.