Dies Slowly
Dies slowly he who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself. Dies slowly he who destroys his self-love, who does not allow himself to be helped.
Dies slowly he who becomes a slave of habit, repeating every day the same paths, who does not change brand, does not risk wearing a new color, and does not speak to those he does not know.
Dies slowly he who makes television his guru.
Dies slowly he who avoids a passion, who prefers black on white and the dots on the "i's" to a whirlwind of emotions, precisely those that restore the gleam in the eyes, smiles from the yawns, hearts from the stumbles and feelings.
Dies slowly he who does not overturn the table when he is unhappy at work, who does not risk the certain for the uncertain to go after a dream, who does not allow himself, at least once in his life, to flee from sensible advice.
Dies slowly he who spends his days complaining of his bad luck or the incessant rain. Dies slowly he who abandons a project before starting it, who does not ask about a matter he does not know, or does not reply when he is asked about something he knows.
Let us avoid death in gentle doses, always remembering that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing. Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.
Poem 20
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
On nights like this one I held her in my arms.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
That is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
The same night whitening the same trees.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer,
Your Laughter
Take the bread away from me, if you wish,
Do not take away the rose,
My struggle is harsh and I come back
My love, in the darkest
By the sea in autumn,
Laugh at the night,
I Like for You to be Still
I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
As all things are filled with my soul
I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo. Eres como la noche, callada y constelada. Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.
Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente. Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto. Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan. Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.