A Poem
Dies slowly he who becomes the slave of habit, repeating every day the same itineraries, who never changes pace, who does not risk and change the color of his clothes, who doesn't talk to whom he doesn't know.
Dies slowly he who shuns passion, who prefers black on white, dotting ones "i's" rather than a whirlpool of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer, that turn a yawn into a smile, that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings.
Dies slowly he who does not overthrow the table when he is unhappy at work, who does not risk certain for uncertain to thus follow a dream, he who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives.
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 accept somebody's help.
Dies slowly he who passes his days complaining of his bad luck or the rain that never stops.
Dies slowly he who abandons a project before starting it, who fail to ask questions over a subjects that does not know or who doesn't reply when asked about something he knows.
Let's avoid death in small doses, always reminding oneself that being alive demands an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing. Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.
- Pablo Neruda
Dies slowly he who shuns passion, who prefers black on white, dotting ones "i's" rather than a whirlpool of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer, that turn a yawn into a smile, that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings.
Dies slowly he who does not overthrow the table when he is unhappy at work, who does not risk certain for uncertain to thus follow a dream, he who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives.
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 accept somebody's help.
Dies slowly he who passes his days complaining of his bad luck or the rain that never stops.
Dies slowly he who abandons a project before starting it, who fail to ask questions over a subjects that does not know or who doesn't reply when asked about something he knows.
Let's avoid death in small doses, always reminding oneself that being alive demands an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing. Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.
- Pablo Neruda