- 1- Carpe Diem by Walt Whitman
- 2- I slept and dreamed of… by Rabindranath Tagore
- 3- Ethics of Yalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- 4- Ithaca by Constantine Kavafis
- 5- Do not give up on Mario Benedetti
- 6- Ode to the life of Pablo Neruda
- 7- Poem attributed to Borges by Don Herold or NadineStair
- 8- What is life? by Patricio Aguilar
- 9- Life is a dream of Pedro Calderón de la Barca
- 10- Rubayiat of Omar Khayyam
- 11- Bad hands took your life from Gabriela Mistral
- 12- Life is a dream by Vicente Huidobro
- 13- Eternity of William Blake
- 14- You will learn from William Shakespeare
- 15- Life dies and I live without life by Lope de Vega
- 16- Winds of the town of Miguel Hernández
- 17- Coplas to the death of his father by Jorge Manrique
- 18- Rima LI de Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer
- 20- Canto de otoño de José Martí
- 21- El puente de Manuel Benítez Carrasco
- 22- A un poeta muerto de Luis Cernuda
- 23- Vida de Alfonsina Storni
- 24- ¡Ah de la vida! de Francisco de Quevedo
- 25- La vida de Madre Teresa de Calcuta
I leave you 25 life poems that talk about the conception of happiness and the passage of time that some of the most important poets in world literature have had.
You may also be interested in these poems about happiness.
1- Carpe Diem by Walt Whitman
"Don't let it end without having grown a bit, without being a little happier, without having fed your dreams.
Don't be overcome by discouragement.
Do not allow anyone
I take away the right to
express to yourself that it is almost a duty.
Do not abandon your desire to make your life
something extraordinary…
Don't stop believing that words, laughter and poetry
yes they can change the world…
We are beings, human, full of passion.
The life is desert and also Oasis.
It knocks us down, hurts us, turns us into
protagonists of our own history…
But never stop dreaming
because only through your dreams
man can be free.
Do not fall into the worst mistake, silence.
The majority lives in a scary silence.
Do not resign yourself…
Don't betray your beliefs. We all need
acceptance, but we can't row in
against ourselves.
That transforms life into hell.
Enjoy the panic of having
the life ahead…
Live it intensely, without mediocrities.
Think that in you is the future and in
face your task with pride, impulse
and without fear.
Learn from those who can teach you…
Do not let life
pass you over
without you living it… "
2- I slept and dreamed of… by Rabindranath Tagore
“I slept and dreamed that life was joy.
I wake up and see that the life was service.
I served and discovered that in service is joy.
What a short and poetic way to underline
the importance of service! "
3- Ethics of Yalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
"On the Day of Resurrection, God will ask,
"During this stay that I gave you on earth, What have you produced for Me?
With what job did you come to the end of your life?
For the sake of what food did you consume your strength?
What did you spend the sparkle in your eyes on?
How did you dissipate your five senses?
You used your eyes, your ears and your intellect
and unadulterated heavenly substances, And what did you buy from the land?
I gave you hands and feet like shovel and pick
to plow the field of good works,
When did they start acting on their own? "
Masnavi III, 2149 –2153
4- Ithaca by Constantine Kavafis
"When you start your journey to Ithaca
It asks for the path to be long, full of adventures, full of experiences.
Do not fear the Laystrygians or the Cyclops
nor to the angry Poseidon, such beings you will never find on your way, if your thinking is high, if you select
it is the emotion that touches your spirit and your body.
Neither the Lalestrygons nor the Cyclops
nor the wild Poseidon you will find,
if you don't carry them inside your soul, if your soul does not raise them before you.
It asks for the path to be long.
May there be many summer mornings
when you arrive - with what pleasure and joy! -
to ports never seen before.
Stop at the emporiums of Phenicia
and get hold of beautiful merchandise, mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony
and all kinds of sensual perfumes,
the more abundant sensual perfumes you can.
Go to many Egyptian cities
to learn, to learn from his wise men.
Always keep Ithaca on your mind.
Getting there is your destination.
But never rush the trip.
Better last for many years
and dock, old man, on the island, enriched by how much you earned on the way
without putting up with Ithaca to enrich you.
Ithaca gave you such a beautiful journey.
Without her you would not have started the journey.
But he no longer has anything to give you.
Even if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
So, wise as you have become, with so much experience, you will already understand what the Ithacas mean ”.
5- Do not give up on Mario Benedetti
"Don't give up, you still have time
to reach and start again, accept your shadows, bury your fears, release the ballast, take flight again.
Do not give up that life is that, continue the journey,
follow your dreams, unlock time, run the debris,
and uncover the sky.
Don't give up, please don't give in
although the cold burns, although fear bites, although the sun hides, and the wind is silent, There is still fire in your soul, There's still life in your dreams, because life is yours and your desire is also yours, because you have loved it and because I love you.
Because there is wine and love, it is true, Because there are not wounds that time can not heal, Open doors, remove the bolts,
leave the walls that protected you.
Live life and accept the challenge, recover laughter, rehearse a song, lower your guard and spread your hands, spread your wings, and try again, celebrate life and take back the skies.
Don't give up, please don't give in
although the cold burns, although fear bites, Although the sun goes down and the wind is silent, There is still fire in your soul, There's still life in your dreams, Because every day is a new beginning, Because this is the time and the best time, Because you are not alone, because I love you".
6- Ode to the life of Pablo Neruda
"The whole night
with an ax
pain has hit me, but the dream
passed washing like dark water
bloody stones.
Today I am alive again.
Again
I get up, lifetime, on my shoulders.
Oh life, clear glass, suddenly
you fill up
of dirty water, of dead wine, of agony, of loss, of awesome cobwebs, and many believe
that that color of hell
you will keep forever.
It is not true.
Spend a slow night
a single minute passes
and everything changes.
Fills up
transparency
the cup of Life.
Spacious work
he's waiting for us.
Doves are born with a single blow.
light on Earth is established.
Life, the poor
poets
they thought you bitter, they did not go out with you
from the bed
with the wind of the world.
They received the blows
without looking for you, they drilled
a black hole
and they were submerging
in mourning
From a lonely well
It's not true, life
you are
beautiful
like the one I love
and between the breasts you have
mint smell.
Lifetime, you are
a full machine, happiness sound
stormy, tenderness
of delicate oil.
Lifetime, you are like a vineyard:
you treasure the light and distribute it
transformed into a cluster.
the one who denies you
wait
one minute, one night, a short or long year, to leave
of his lying loneliness, to inquire and fight, gather
his hands to other hands, do not adopt or flatter
to misery, to reject it by giving
wall shape, like stonemasons to stone, that cut the misery
and be done with it
pants.
Life awaits us
to all
the ones we love
the wild
smell of sea and mint
that she has between her breasts ”.
7- Poem attributed to Borges by Don Herold or NadineStair
"If I could live my life again, Next time I would try to make more mistakes.
Do not try to be so perfect, I would relax more.
I'd be dumber than I've been
in fact he would take very few things seriously.
It would be less hygienic.
I'd take more risks
I would make more trips
I would contemplate more sunsets, I would climb more mountains, I would swim more rivers.
I'd go to more places I've never been
I'd eat more ice cream and fewer beans
you would have more real problems and less imaginary ones.
I was one of those people who lived sensible
and prolifically every minute of his life;
of course I had moments of joy.
But if I could go back I would try
to have only good times.
In case you don't know, that's what life is made of, only of moments; Do not miss the present.
I was one of those who never
they went nowhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, an umbrella and a parachute;
If I could live again, I would travel lighter.
If I could live again
I would start to go barefoot early
of spring
and he would remain barefoot until the end of autumn.
I'd take more turns in a merry-go-round, I'd watch more sunrises
and I would play with more children, If I had life ahead of me again
But you see, I'm 85 years old…
and I know that I am dying ”.
8- What is life? by Patricio Aguilar
"What is life?
Life is
a drop of dew
at dawn;
that fades
in the sky
at noon.
Falls in rain
at sunset;
to melt
with the sea
At dusk".
9- Life is a dream of Pedro Calderón de la Barca
“It is true, then: we repress
this fierce condition, this fury, this ambition, In case we ever dream
And yes we will, well we are
in such a singular world, that living is only dreaming;
and experience teaches me, that the man who lives, dreams
what it is, until you wake up.
The king dreams that he is king, and he lives
with this deception commanding, arranging and governing;
and this applause, which receives
borrowed, in the wind writes
and turns him to ashes
death (bad luck!):
That there are those who try to reign
seeing that he has to wake up
in the dream of death!
The rich man dreams of his wealth, what more care offers you;
the poor man who suffers dreams
their misery and poverty;
the one who begins to thrive dreams, the one who toils and pretends dreams, the one who offends and offends dreams, and in the world, in conclusion, everyone dreams what they are, although no one understands it.
I dream that I'm here
these prisons loaded;
and I dreamed that in another state
the more flattering I saw myself.
What is life? A frenzy.
What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a fiction, and the greatest good is small;
that all life is a dream, and dreams are dreams ”.
10- Rubayiat of Omar Khayyam
I
“Everyone knows I never murmured a prayer.
Everyone also knows that I never tried to hide my flaws.
I do not know if there is a Justice and a Mercy.
If there are, I am at peace, because I was always sincere.
II
What is worth more? Examine our conscience sitting in a tavern
or stay in a mosque with the soul absent?
I don't care if we have a God
nor the destiny that reserves us.
III
Be compassionate to drinkers. Do not forget that you have other defects.
If you want to achieve peace and serenity, think of the disinherited from life and the poor who live in misfortune.
Then you will feel happy.
IV
Proceed in such a way that your neighbor does not feel humiliated by your wisdom.
Master yourself, master yourself Never give in to anger.
If you want to conquer the definitive peace, smile at Fate that is cruel to you and never be cruel to anyone.
V
Since you ignore what tomorrow holds for you, strive to be happy today.
Have a pitcher of wine, sit in the moonlight
and baby thinking that tomorrow
Maybe the moon looks for you uselessly.
SAW
From time to time men read the Koran, the book par excellence, But who is it that daily delights in reading it?
On the edge of all the wine-filled cups, Chiseled triumphs a secret truth that we must savor.
VII
Our treasure is the wine and our palace the tavern.
Thirst and drunkenness are our faithful companions.
We ignore fear because we know that our souls, our hearts, our goblets
and our stained clothes have nothing to fear from dust, water or fire.
VIII
Settle yourself in this world with few friends.
Do not seek to promote the sympathy that someone inspired you
Before shaking the hand of a man, think if she won't hit you one day.
IX
Once this vase was a poor lover
who suffered at the indifference of a woman.
The edge handle was the arm
that girded the neck of his beloved.
X
How poor is the heart that does not know how to love, who cannot get drunk on love! If you don't love
How do you explain the blinding light of the sun
and the slightest clarity that the moon brings?
XI
All my youth sprouts today. Pour me wine!
It doesn't matter which one… I'm not picky!
In truth, maybe I'll find it
as bitter as life.
XII
You know that you have no power over your destiny.
Why should this uncertainty of tomorrow cause you fear?
If you are wise, enjoy the present moment.
Future? What can the future bring you?
XIII
Behold the ineffable station, the station of hope,
the season when souls thirsty for other souls seek a scented stillness.
Each flower, is it the white hand of Moses?
Every breeze, is it the warm breath of Jesus?
XIV
The man who has not gathered the fruit of the truth does not walk safely on the Path.
If you could harvest it from the Tree of Science, knows that the days gone by and the days to come
They are in no way different from the mind-blowing first day of Creation.
XV
Beyond the limits of the Earth, beyond the Infinite limit,
I was looking for Heaven and Hell.
But a stern voice warned me:
"Heaven and Hell are in you."
XVI
Nothing afflicts me anymore Get up to offer me wine!
Your mouth tonight, is the most beautiful rose in the world… Espresso came!
Make it crimson like your cheeks and make slight movements
how light are your loops!
XVII
The spring breeze refreshes the body of the roses.
And in the bluish shade of the garden, also caress the body of my beloved.
Despite the fullness we enjoy, I forget our past.
So seductive is the caress of the Present!
XVIII
Will I still insist on filling the ocean with stones?
I only have contempt for libertines and devotees. Khayyám:
Who can tell you that you will go to Heaven or Hell? First of all: What do we understand by such words?
Do you know someone who has visited these mysterious regions?
XIX
Although a drinker, I do not know who modeled you, immense amphora!
I only know that you can hold three measures of wine and that one day
Death will break you. Then I'll wonder for a long time why you were created
why you were happy and why you are nothing but dust.
XX
Fleeting are our days and they flee
like the water of the rivers and the winds of the desert.
However, two days leave me indifferent:
The one who died yesterday and the one who was not born tomorrow.
XXI
When I was born? When will I die?
No one remembers the day of his birth or is able to foresee the day of his death.
Come docile well beloved!
I want to forget in drunkenness the pain of our ignorance.
XXII
Khayyám, sewing the tents of wisdom, He fell into the stake of Pain and was turned to ashes.
The angel Azraël parted the ropes of his tent.
Death offered him his glory for a song.
XXIII
Why does excessive sin distress you, Khayyám?
Useless is your sadness.
What is there after death?
Nothing or Mercy.
XXIV
In monasteries, synagogues and mosques
the weak who fear Hell find refuge.
But the man who has experienced the power of God, he does not cultivate in his heart the bad seeds of fear and supplication.
XXV
I usually go to sit in the spring, on the edge of a flowered field.
When a slender maiden offers me her chalice of wine, I don't think about my health at all.
In truth, he would be worth less than a dog if he had such gross concern.
XXVI
The Unfathomable World: A Grain of Dust in Space.
All the science of man: Words.
The peoples, beasts, and flowers of seven climates are shadows.
The Nothing is the fruit of your constant meditation.
XXVII
Let us assume that you have solved the riddle of Creation. But do you know your destiny?
Let's assume you've stripped off all your clothes to the truth but, Do you know your destiny Let's assume you've been happy for a hundred years
and that a hundred others are still waiting for you. But do you know your destiny?
XXVIII
Be well convinced of this: One day your soul will leave the body
and you will be dragged behind a fluctuating veil between the world and the unknowable.
While you wait, be happy!
You do not know what your origin is and you do not know what your destination is.
XXIX
The greatest sages and philosophers
they walked in the darkness of ignorance.
Yet they were the fire of their time.
But what did they do? Pronounce a few sentences and then doze off.
XXX
My heart told me: »I want to know, I want to learn.
Instruct me, you Khayyám, who have studied so much! »
As I pronounced the first letter of the alphabet, my heart replied:
Now I know, One is the first digit of the number that never ends.
XXXI
No one can understand the ineffable.
No one is able to see what is hidden behind the apparent.
All our lodgings are temporary, except the last one:
The abode of the earth. Drink wine! Enough of useless words!
XXXII
Life is nothing but a monotonous game
in which you will certainly find two prizes:
Pain and death. Happy the child who died shortly after birth!
Happier still the one who did not touch the world!
XXXIII
At the fair you go through, don't try to find a friend.
Also do not seek solid refuge.
With courage, accept the pain without the hope of a non-existent remedy.
Smile at misfortune and do not ask anyone to smile at you: you will waste your time.
XXXIV
Spin the wheel of fortune regardless of the predictions of the wise men.
Give up the vanity of counting the stars and meditate better on this certainty:
You have to die, you will never dream again and the worms of the grave
Or stray dogs will eat what's left of your body.
XXXV
When I was sleepy, Wisdom told me:
The roses of Happiness do not perfume anyone's dream.
Instead of abandoning yourself to this brother of Death, drink wine!
You have eternity to sleep!
XXXVI
The Creator of the world and the stars exceeded when he determined, that pain was to exist among men.
Ruby lips, embalmed locks:
What number did you reach on earth?
XXXVII
Impossible to observe the sky. I have a stream of tears in my eyes!
Graceful sparks are the bonfires of Hell
in front of the flames that consume me.
Paradise for me is nothing more than an instant of peace.
XXXVIII
I dream above the ground, I dream under the ground, bodies that lie.
Everywhere is nothing. Desert out of nowhere.
Beings that arrive. Beings that become extinct.
XXIX
Old world crossed gallop
for the white horse of day and the black horse of night:
You are the gloomy palace where a hundred Djemchids dreamed of glory
and a hundred Bahrain dreamed of love, to wake up all with pain and tears!
XL
The south wind dried the rose to which the nightingale sang his praises
Should we cry for his death or for our survival?
when Death dries our faces, other roses will show off your graces.
XLI
Give up the reward you deserve. Be happy.
Don't be sorry for anything. Do not long for anything.
What has to happen to you, It is written in the Book that the wind of Eternity leafs at random.
XLII
When I hear you ramble about the joys reserved for the chosen ones, I just exclaim: 'I only trust wine.
Constant currency and no promises!
The noise of the drum, only at a distance is pleasant… »
XLIII
Drink wine! You will achieve eternal life.
Wine is the only one capable of restoring your youth.
Divine season of roses, wine and good friends!
Enjoy the fugitive moment of your life!
XLIV
Drink wine!
Long will be the time that you will have to sleep
underground without the company of a woman and without a friend.
Hear this secret: Dried tulips are no longer resurrected.
XLV
In a low voice said the clay
to the potter who kneaded it:
Don't forget that I was once like you.
Don't mistreat me! "
XLVI
Potter if you are wise, Be careful not to spoil the clay with which Adam was kneaded!
I guess on your lathe the hand of Féridun and the heart of Khosrou
What do you intend to do?
XLVII
The tulip draws its purple
of the blood of a dead emperor.
And the violet is born from the mole
that adorned the features of a teenager.
XLVIII
Twilights and auroras have been happening for countless centuries.
For countless centuries the stars have traced their round.
Knead the earth carefully, perhaps the clod that you are going to crush
It was once the languid eye of a teenager.
XLIX
Do they spring from the still lips of a woman
the roots of the daffodil trembling at the edge of the stream.
Lightly brush the grass that your steps sink!
Perhaps it was born from the ashes of beautiful faces where the brilliance of red tulips triumphed.
L
I saw a potter working yesterday.
He modeled the sides and handles of a pitcher.
The pug were
skulls of sultans and hands of beggars.
LI
Good and evil fight for primacy in this world.
Heaven is not responsible for the glory or misfortune that fate brings us
Neither thank him nor accuse him.
It is far from both your joys and your sorrows.
LII
If you sowed the seed of Love in your heart,
your life was not useless.
Nor if you tried to hear the voice of God.
And even less, if with a slight smile you offered your chalice to pleasure.
LIII
Act wisely, traveler!
Dangerous is the path that you travel and the dagger of Destiny is sharp.
Don't get fed up with sweet almonds.
They contain poison.
LIV
A garden, a swaying maiden, a pitcher of wine, my desire and my bitterness:
Here is my Paradise and my Hell.
But who has traveled to Heaven or Hell?
LV
You whose cheeks outshine the eglantine of the fields;
you whose face pretends to be a Chinese idol:
Do you know that your velvety look changed
the king of Babylon a bishop fleeing from the queen?
LVI
Life goes on What remains of Balk and Baghdad?
The slightest touch is fatal to the too lively rose.
Drink wine and contemplate the moon; try if you can, to evoke the dead civilizations that it illuminated at its peak.
LVII
Listen to what wisdom repeats to you day after day:
Life is short.
You are nothing like plants
that sprout after pruning ”.
11- Bad hands took your life from Gabriela Mistral
"From the frozen niche in which men put you, I will bring you down to the humble and sunny land.
That I have to sleep in it, men did not know, and that we have to dream on the same pillow.
I'll lay you down on the sunny earth with a
sweet motherhood for the sleeping child, and the earth has to become cradle softness
upon receiving your body as a sore child, Then I will go sprinkling earth and rose dust, and in the bluish and light dusting of the moon, light offal will be imprisoned.
I will walk away singing my beautiful revenges, Because to that hidden honor the hand of no
will come down to dispute your handful of bones!
II
This long tiredness will grow one day
and the soul will tell the body that it does not want to continue
dragging its mass down the rosy track,
where men go, happy to live…
You will feel that by your side they dig briskly, that another asleep comes to the quiet city.
I will hope they have fully covered me…
And then we'll talk for eternity!
Only then will you know why it does not mature
for the deep bones your flesh still, you had to go down, without fatigue, to sleep.
There will be light in the sinus area, dark:
you will know that in our alliance star sign there was
and, broken the huge pact, you had to die…
III
Bad hands took your life from the day
in which, at a sign of the stars, he left his campus
snowy lilies. In joy it flourished.
Bad hands tragically entered him…
And I said to the Lord: - «On the mortal paths
They bring him a beloved shadow that they cannot guide!
Rip it out, Lord, from those fatal hands
or you sink him into the long sleep that you know how to give!
I can't yell at him, I can't follow him!
His boat blows a black storm wind.
Return him to my arms or you will reap him in bloom ».
The pink boat of his life stopped…
That I don't know about love, that I had no mercy?
You, who are going to judge me, understand it, Lord! "
12- Life is a dream by Vicente Huidobro
"The eyes go from day to day
The princesses pose from branch to branch
like the blood of dwarves
that falls like all on the leaves
when his time comes from night to night.
The dead leaves want to talk
they are twins with a sore voice
they are the blood of princesses
and the eyes from branch to branch
that fall like the old stars
With wings broken like ties
Blood falls from branch to branch
from eye to eye and from voice to voice.
Blood falls like ties
can't run away jumping like the dwarves
when the princesses pass
towards their aching stars.
like the wings of the leaves
like the eyes of the waves
like the leaves of the eyes
like the waves of the wings.
The hours fall from minute to minute
like blood
who wants to talk "
13- Eternity of William Blake
"Who will chain a joy to himself
it will spoil the winged life.
But who will kiss the joy in its flapping
live in the dawn of eternity "
14- You will learn from William Shakespeare
"After some time you will learn the difference between
shake hands and help a soul…
And you will learn that
love does not mean lean on, and what company does not always
means security…
You will begin to learn that kisses are not contracts
no gifts, no promises…
You will begin to accept your
defeats with your head held high and your gaze straight ahead, with the grace of an adult and not with the sadness of a
boy…
And you will learn to build all your
roads, because tomorrow's terrain is uncertain for
projects and the future has a habit of falling
in the void.
After a while you will learn that the sun burns if you
you expose too much…
You will accept that even
good people could ever hurt you and
you will need to forgive them…
You will learn what to speak
can ease the pains of the soul…
You'll find that it takes years to build trust and just a few
seconds destroy it,
and that you too can do
things you'll regret the rest of your life…
You will learn that true friendships continue
growing despite the distances…
And it doesn't matter
what do you have, but who do you have in life…
And that good friends are the family that we
we allow you to choose…
You'll learn we don't have to change friends, yeah
we are willing to accept that friends change…
You will realize that you can have a good time with
your best friend doing anything or nothing,
just for the pleasure of enjoying your company…
You will find that you often take lightly
people who matter most to you and that is why we must always
tell those people that we love them, because we never
We will be sure when will be the last time
let's see…
You will learn that the circumstances and environment that
surrounds us have influence on us, but
we are solely responsible for what
we make…
You'll start to learn that we don't owe each other
compare with others, except when we want
imitate them to improve…
You will find that it takes a long time
to become the person you want to be, and that the
time is short.
You will learn that it does not matter where you got to, but
where are you going and if you don't know anywhere
it serves…
You will learn that if you do not control your actions, they will control you and that being flexible does not mean being weak
or have no personality,
because no matter how
delicate and fragile is a situation:
there are always two sides.
You will learn that heroes are the people who did what
that it was necessary, facing the consequences…
You will learn that patience requieres a lot of practice.
You will find that sometimes the person you expect
to kick you when you fall, maybe it's one of the
few to help you get up.
Growing up has more to do with what you have learned from
the experiences, than with the years lived.
You will learn that there is much more of your parents in you than
what do you suppose.
You will learn that a child should never be told that their
dreams are nonsense, because few things are so
humiliating and it would be a tragedy if I believed it because
you will be taking away hope…
You will learn that when you feel angry, you have the right to
have it, but that doesn't give you the right to be cruel…
You will discover that just because someone doesn't love you
the way you want, it doesn't mean that I don't love you with everything
what it can, because there are people who love us, but
they don't know how to prove it…
It is not always enough to be forgiven by someone,
sometimes you will have to learn to forgive yourself
same…
You will learn that with the same severity with which you judge, you will also be judged and at some point condemned…
You will learn that it does not matter in how many pieces you
heart broke, the world does not stop for you
fix…
You will learn that time is not something that can return
backwards, therefore, you must cultivate your own
garden and decorate your soul, instead of waiting
someone bring you flowers.
Then and only then will you really know what
you can bear; that you are strong and that you can go a lot
further than you thought when you thought I don't know
could more.
Is that life really is worth when you have the courage
to face it! "
15- Life dies and I live without life by Lope de Vega
"Life dies, and I live without life, offending the life of my death, divine blood from veins pours,
and my diamond forgets its hardness.
Is the majesty of God lying
on a hard cross, and I'm lucky
that I am the strongest of his pains, and his body the biggest wound.
Oh hard heart of cold marble!
Does your God have open the left side, and don't you become a copious river?
Dying for him will be divine agreement, but you are my life, my Christ, and since I don't have it, I don't lose it ”.
16- Winds of the town of Miguel Hernández
“Winds from the town carry me, village winds carry me away,
they scatter my heart
and they fan my throat.
The oxen bow their heads, helplessly meek, in front of punishments:
the lions lift her up
and at the same time they punish
with its clamoring claw.
I am not a town of oxen, I am from a town that they seize
lion beds, eagles gorges
and mountain ranges of bulls
with pride on the pole.
Oxen never thrived
in the moors of Spain.
Who spoke of putting a yoke on
on the neck of this breed?
Who has put the hurricane
never yokes or obstacles, nor who stopped lightning
prisoner in a cage?
Asturians of bravery, Basques of armored stone, Valencians of joy
and Castilians of soul, tilled like the land
and graceful as wings;
Andalusians of lightning, born between guitars
and forged on the anvils
torrential tears;
rye from Extremadura, Galicians of rain and calm, Catalan of firmness, Aragonese of caste, dynamite murcians
fruitfully propagated, Leonese, Navarrese, owners
from hunger, sweat and the ax, kings of mining, lords of the farm, men who among the roots, like graceful roots, you go from life to death, you go from nothing to nothing:
yokes want to put you
people of the weeds,
yokes that you have to leave
broken on their backs.
Twilight of the oxen
the dawn is breaking.
Oxen die clothed
of humility and the smell of a stable;
the eagles, the lions
and the bulls of arrogance, and behind them, the sky
it neither becomes cloudy nor ends.
The agony of the oxen
her face is small, that of the male animal
all creation enlarges.
If I die, let me die
with the head very high.
Dead and twenty times dead, the mouth against the grass, I will have clenched my teeth
and determined the beard.
Singing I wait for death
that there are nightingales that sing
above the rifles
and in the middle of the battles ”.
17- Coplas to the death of his father by Jorge Manrique
"Remember the sleeping soul, revive the brain and wake up
watching
how life is spent, how does death come
so quiet;
how soon the pleasure leaves, how, after agreed, gives pain;
how, in our opinion, any time passed
It was better.
II
Well if we see the present
how at one point it's gone
and finished, if we judge wisely, we will give the uncommon
by past.
Don't be fooled nadi, no
thinking that it will last
what you expect
more than what he saw lasted, Well, everything has to pass
by such a way.
III
Our lives are the rivers
that they are going to give in the sea, what is dying;
there go the manors
rights to end
e consume;
there the flowing rivers, there the other halflings
e more guys, relatives, they are the same
those who live by his hands
and the rich.
INVOCATION
IV
I leave the invocations
of the famous poets
and speakers;
I am not cured of his fictions, that bring secret herbs
its flavors.
That one only commends me, That one only invoke me
really, that in this world living, the world did not know
his deity.
V
This world is the way
for the other, what is purple
without regret;
it is better to have good judgment
to walk this day
without erring.
We leave when we are born
we walk while we live, and we arrived
at the time we die;
so when we die, we rested.
SAW
This good world was
even if we use it
as we should, because, according to our faith, is to win that one
that we serve.
Even that fixed of God
to send us to heaven
descended
to be here between us, already live on this ground
do died.
VII
If it were in our power
make the face beautiful
bodily, how can we do
the soul so glorious
angelic, What diligence so alive
we would have all the time
e so ready, in composing the cativa, leaving us the lady
decomposed!
VIII
See how little value
are the things we walk after
and we run, that, in this treacherous world, even first we die
we lose them.
Dellasdeshaze the age, of the disastrous cases
what happens, dellas, for their quality, in the highest states
they faint.
IX
Tell me: The beauty, the gentle freshness and complexion
Of the face, the color and the whiteness, when old age comes, Which one is for?
The tricks and lightness
e body strength
of youth, everything turns grave
when the suburb arrives
of senescence.
X
For the blood of the Goths, and the lineage and the nobility
so crescida, By how many ways and ways
his grand highness is lost
in this life!
Some, almost worth, for how low and dejected
that they have them;
others who, for not having, with wrongful trades
remain.
XI
The states and wealth, that they leave us untimely
Who doubts it?
we do not ask for firmness.
Well, they are a lady;
that moves, what goods belong to Fortuna
that stir with their wheel
hurried, which cannot be a
neither be stable nor remain
on one thing.
XII
But I say accompany you
and the fuessa arrives
with its owner:
for that reason don't fool us, Well, life is fast
how i dream, and the delights of here
They are, in which we delight, temporary, and the torments of there, that we wait for them, eternal.
XIII
The pleasures and sweets
this life worked
what we have, they are not but runners, e death, çelada
we fall into
Not looking at our damage
we run to free rein
non-stop;
since we see the deception
and we want to turn around
there is no place.
XIV
Those mighty kings
what do we see by scripts
already gone
with sad, tearful cases, it was his good fortune
upset;
so, there is no strong thing, than to popes and emperors
e pearly, that's how death treats them
like the poor shepherds
of cattle.
XV
Let's leave the Trojans, that we did not see their evils, nor its glories;
let's leave the Romans, although we hear and read
his stories;
let's not cure of knowing
what of that last century
what was d'ello;
let's come to yesterday, which is also forgotten
like that.
XVI
What did King Don Joan do to himself?
The Infantes d'Aragón
What did they do?
What happened to all the handsome men, how much invitation
How did they trux?
Were they but follies, what were they but vegetables
of the ages, the jousts and the tournaments, walls, embroidery
and çimeras?
XVII
What did the ladies do
their headdresses and dresses, their smells?
What did the flames do
of the fires lit
d'lovers?
What did that trovar do to himself, the agreed musics
what were they playing?
What did that dance do, those plated clothes
what did they bring?
XVIII
Well the other, his heir
Don Anrique, what powers
reached!
When soft, when flattering
the world with its pleasures
it was given!
But you will see when enemy, when contrary, when cruel
it was shown to him;
having been his friend, How little did it last with him
what you gave!
XIX
The excessive daydresses, the real buildings
full of gold, the vaxillas so fabricated
the real Enriques
of the treasure, the jaezes, the horses
of its people and attire
so spare
Where will we go to look for them ?;
What were they but dews
from the meadows?
XX
Well, his brother the innocent
what in his life successor
it was called
What an excellent cut
he had, and how great sir
he followed!
But, as it were mortal, Death put him later
in his forge.
¡Oh jüicio divinal!, cuando más ardía el fuego, echaste agua.
XXI
Pues aquel grand Condestable, maestre que conoscimos
tan privado, non cumple que dél se hable, mas sólo como lo vimos
degollado.
Sus infinitos tesoros, sus villas e sus lugares, su mandar, ¿qué le fueron sino lloros?, ¿qué fueron sino pesares
al dexar?
XXII
E los otros dos hermanos, maestres tan prosperados
como reyes, c’a los grandes e medianos
truxieron tan sojuzgados
a sus leyes;
aquella prosperidad
qu’en tan alto fue subida
y ensalzada, ¿qué fue sino claridad
que cuando más encendida
fue amatada?
XXIII
Tantos duques excelentes, tantos marqueses e condes
e varones
como vimos tan potentes, dí, Muerte, ¿dó los escondes, e traspones?
E las sus claras hazañas
que hizieron en las guerras
y en las pazes, cuando tú, cruda, t’ensañas, con tu fuerça, las atierras
e desfazes.
XXIV
Las huestes inumerables, los pendones, estandartes
e banderas, los castillos impugnables, los muros e balüartes
e barreras, la cava honda, chapada, o cualquier otro reparo, ¿qué aprovecha?
Cuando tú vienes airada, todo lo passas de claro
con tu flecha.
XXV
Aquel de buenos abrigo, amado, por virtuoso, de la gente, el maestre don Rodrigo
Manrique, tanto famoso
e tan valiente;
sus hechos grandes e claros
non cumple que los alabe, pues los vieron;
ni los quiero hazer caros, pues qu’el mundo todo sabe
cuáles fueron.
XXVI
Amigo de sus amigos, ¡qué señor para criados
e parientes!
¡Qué enemigo d’enemigos!
¡Qué maestro d’esforçados
e valientes!
¡Qué seso para discretos!
¡Qué gracia para donosos!
¡Qué razón!
¡Qué benino a los sujetos!
¡A los bravos e dañosos, qué león!
XXVII
En ventura, Octavïano;
Julio César en vencer
e batallar;
en la virtud, Africano;
Aníbal en el saber
e trabajar;
en la bondad, un Trajano;
Tito en liberalidad
con alegría;
en su braço, Aureliano;
Marco Atilio en la verdad
que prometía.
XXVIII
Antoño Pío en clemencia;
Marco Aurelio en igualdad
del semblante;
Adriano en la elocuencia;
Teodosio en humanidad
e buen talante.
Aurelio Alexandre fue
en desciplina e rigor
de la guerra;
un Constantino en la fe, Camilo en el grand amor
de su tierra.
XXIX
Non dexó grandes tesoros, ni alcançó muchas riquezas
ni vaxillas;
mas fizo guerra a los moros
ganando sus fortalezas
e sus villas;
y en las lides que venció, cuántos moros e cavallos
se perdieron;
y en este oficio ganó
las rentas e los vasallos
que le dieron.
XXX
Pues por su honra y estado, en otros tiempos passados
¿cómo s’hubo?
Quedando desamparado, con hermanos e criados
se sostuvo.
Después que fechos famosos
fizo en esta misma guerra
que hazía, fizo tratos tan honrosos
que le dieron aun más tierra
que tenía.
XXXI
Estas sus viejas hestorias
que con su braço pintó
en joventud, con otras nuevas victorias
agora las renovó
en senectud.
Por su gran habilidad, por méritos e ancianía
bien gastada, alcançó la dignidad
de la grand Caballería
dell Espada.
XXXII
E sus villas e sus tierras, ocupadas de tiranos
las halló;
mas por çercos e por guerras
e por fuerça de sus manos
las cobró.
Pues nuestro rey natural, si de las obras que obró
fue servido, dígalo el de Portogal, y, en Castilla, quien siguió
su partido.
XXXIII
Después de puesta la vida
tantas vezes por su ley
al tablero;
después de tan bien servida
la corona de su rey
verdadero;
después de tanta hazaña
a que non puede bastar
cuenta cierta, en la su villa d’Ocaña
vino la Muerte a llamar
a su puerta, XXXIV
diziendo: «Buen caballero, dexad el mundo engañoso
e su halago;
vuestro corazón d’azero
muestre su esfuerço famoso
en este trago;
e pues de vida e salud
fezistes tan poca cuenta
por la fama;
esfuércese la virtud
para sofrir esta afruenta
que vos llama.»
XXXV
«Non se vos haga tan amarga
la batalla temerosa
qu’esperáis, pues otra vida más larga
de la fama glorïosa
acá dexáis.
Aunqu’esta vida d’honor
tampoco no es eternal
ni verdadera;
mas, con todo, es muy mejor
que la otra temporal, peresçedera.»
XXXVI
«El vivir qu’es perdurable
non se gana con estados
mundanales, ni con vida delectable
donde moran los pecados
infernales;
mas los buenos religiosos
gánanlo con oraciones
e con lloros;
los caballeros famosos, con trabajos e aflicciones
contra moros.»
XXXVII
«E pues vos, claro varón, tanta sangre derramastes
de paganos, esperad el galardón
que en este mundo ganastes
por las manos;
e con esta confiança
e con la fe tan entera
que tenéis, partid con buena esperança, qu’estotra vida tercera
ganaréis.»
XXXVIII
«Non tengamos tiempo ya
en esta vida mesquina
por tal modo, que mi voluntad está
conforme con la divina
para todo;
e consiento en mi morir
con voluntad plazentera, clara e pura, que querer hombre vivir
cuando Dios quiere que muera, es locura.»
XXXIX
«Tú que, por nuestra maldad, tomaste forma servil
e baxo nombre;
tú, que a tu divinidad
juntaste cosa tan vil
como es el hombre;
tú, que tan grandes tormentos
sofriste sin resistencia
en tu persona, non por mis merescimientos, mas por tu sola clemencia
me perdona».
XL
Assí, con tal entender, todos sentidos humanos
conservados, cercado de su mujer
y de sus hijos e hermanos
e criados, dio el alma a quien gela dio
(el cual la ponga en el cielo
en su gloria), que aunque la vida perdió, dexónos harto consuelo
su memoria”.
18- Rima LI de Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer
“De lo poco de vida que me resta
diera con gusto los mejores años, por saber lo que a otros
de mí has hablado.
Y esta vida mortal, y de la eterna
lo que me toque, si me toca algo, por saber lo que a solas
de mí has pensado”.
“Ínclitas razas ubérrimas, sangre de Hispania fecunda, espíritus fraternos, luminosas almas, ¡salve!
Porque llega el momento en que habrán de cantar nuevos himnos
lenguas de gloria. Un vasto rumor llena los ámbitos;
mágicas ondas de vida van renaciendo de pronto;
retrocede el olvido, retrocede engañada la muerte;
se anuncia un reino nuevo, feliz sibila sueña
y en la caja pandórica de que tantas desgracias surgieron
encontramos de súbito, talismática, pura, riente, cual pudiera decirla en su verso Virgilio divino, la divina reina de luz, ¡la celeste Esperanza!
Pálidas indolencias, desconfianzas fatales que a tumba
o a perpetuo presidio, condenasteis al noble entusiasmo, ya veréis el salir del sol en un triunfo de liras, mientras dos continentes, abonados de huesos gloriosos, del Hércules antiguo la gran sombra soberbia evocando, digan al orbe: la alta virtud resucita, que a la hispana progenie hizo dueña de los siglos.
Abominad la boca que predice desgracias eternas, abominad los ojos que ven sólo zodiacos funestos, abominad las manos que apedrean las ruinas ilustres, o que la tea empuñan o la daga suicida.
Siéntense sordos ímpetus en las entrañas del mundo, la inminencia de algo fatal hoy conmueve la Tierra;
fuertes colosos caen, se desbandan bicéfalas águilas, y algo se inicia como vasto social cataclismo
sobre la faz del orbe. ¿Quién dirá que las savias dormidas
no despierten entonces en el tronco del roble gigante
bajo el cual se exprimió la ubre de la loba romana?
¿Quién será el pusilánime que al vigor español niegue músculos
y que al alma española juzgase áptera y ciega y tullida?
No es Babilonia ni Nínive enterrada en olvido y en polvo, ni entre momias y piedras que habita el sepulcro, la nación generosa, coronada de orgullo inmarchito, que hacia el lado del alba fija las miradas ansiosas, ni la que tras los mares en que yace sepulta la Atlántida, tiene su coro de vástagos, altos, robustos y fuertes.
Únanse, brillen, secúndense, tantos vigores dispersos;
formen todos un solo haz de energía ecuménica.
Sangre de Hispania fecunda, sólidas, ínclitas razas, muestren los dones pretéritos que fueron antaño su triunfo.
Vuelva el antiguo entusiasmo, vuelva el espíritu ardiente
que regará lenguas de fuego en esa epifanía.
Juntas las testas ancianas ceñidas de líricos lauros
y las cabezas jóvenes que la alta Minerva decora, así los manes heroicos de los primitivos abuelos, de los egregios padres que abrieron el surco prístino, sientan los soplos agrarios de primaverales retornos
y el rumor de espigas que inició la labor triptolémica.
Un continente y otro renovando las viejas prosapias, en espíritu unidos, en espíritu y ansias y lengua, ven llegar el momento en que habrán de cantar nuevos himnos.
La latina estirpe verá la gran alba futura, en un trueno de música gloriosa, millones de labios
saludarán la espléndida luz que vendrá del Oriente, Oriente augusto en donde todo lo cambia y renueva
la eternidad de Dios, la actividad infinita.
Y así sea Esperanza la visión permanente en nosotros, ¡Ínclitas razas ubérrimas, sangre de Hispania fecunda!”
20- Canto de otoño de José Martí
«Bien; ya lo sé!: -la muerte está sentada
A mis umbrales: cautelosa viene, Porque sus llantos y su amor no apronten
En mi defensa, cuando lejos viven
Padres e hijo.-al retornar ceñudo
De mi estéril labor, triste y oscura, Con que a mi casa del invierno abrigo, De pie sobre las hojas amarillas, En la mano fatal la flor del sueño, La negra toca en alas rematada, Ávido el rostro, – trémulo la miro
Cada tarde aguardándome a mi puerta
En mi hijo pienso, y de la dama oscura
Huyo sin fuerzas devorado el pecho
De un frenético amor! Mujer más bella
No hay que la muerte!: por un beso suyo
Bosques espesos de laureles varios, Y las adelfas del amor, y el gozo
De remembrarme mis niñeces diera!
…Pienso en aquél a quien el amor culpable
trajo a vivir, – y, sollozando, esquivo
de mi amada los brazos: – mas ya gozo
de la aurora perenne el bien seguro.
Oh, vida, adios: – quien va a morir, va muerto.
Oh, duelos con la sombra: oh, pobladores
Ocultos del espacio: oh formidables
Gigantes que a los vivos azorados
Mueren, dirigen, postran, precipitan!
Oh, cónclave de jueces, blandos sólo
A la virtud, que nube tenebrosa, En grueso manto de oro recogidos, Y duros como peña, aguardan torvos
A que al volver de la batalla rindan
-como el frutal sus frutos-
de sus obras de paz los hombres cuenta, de sus divinas alas!… de los nuevos
árboles que sembraron, de las tristes
lágrimas que enjugaron, de las fosas
que a los tigres y vívoras abrieron, y de las fortalezas eminentes
que al amor de los hombres levantaron!
¡esta es la dama, el Rey, la patria, el premio
apetecido, la arrogante mora
que a su brusco señor cautiva espera
llorando en la desierta espera barbacana!:
este el santo Salem, este el Sepulcro
de los hombres modernos:-no se vierta
más sangre que la propia! No se bata
sino al que odia el amor! Únjase presto
soldados del amor los hombres todos!:
la tierra entera marcha a la conquista
De este Rey y señor, que guarda el cielo!
…Viles: el que es traidor a sus deberes.
Muere como traidor, del golpe propio
De su arma ociosa el pecho atravesado!
¡Ved que no acaba el drama de la vida
En esta parte oscura! ¡Ved que luego
Tras la losa de mármol o la blanda
Cortina de humo y césped se reanuda
El drama portentoso! ¡y ved, oh viles, Que los buenos, los tristes, los burlados, Serán een la otra parte burladores!
Otros de lirio y sangre se alimenten:
¡Yo no! ¡yo no! Los lóbregos espacios
rasgué desde mi infancia con los tristes
Penetradores ojos: el misterio
En una hora feliz de sueño acaso
De los jueces así, y amé la vida
Porque del doloroso mal me salva
De volverla a vivi. Alegremente
El peso eché del infortunio al hombro:
Porque el que en huelga y regocijo vive
Y huye el dolor, y esquiva las sabrosas
Penas de la virtud, irá confuso
Del frío y torvo juez a la sentencia, Cual soldado cobarde que en herrumbre
Dejó las nobles armas; ¡y los jueces
No en su dosel lo ampararán, no en brazos
Lo encumbrarán, mas lo echarán altivos
A odiar, a amar y a batallar de nuevo
En la fogosa y sofocante arena!
¡Oh! ¿qué mortal que se asomó a la vida
vivir de nuevo quiere? …
Puede ansiosa
La Muerte, pues, de pie en las hojas secas, Esperarme a mi umbral con cada turbia
Tarde de Otoño, y silenciosa puede
Irme tejiendo con helados copos
Mi manto funeral.
No di al olvido
Las armas del amor: no de otra púrpura
Vestí que de mi sangre.
Abre los brazos, listo estoy, madre Muerte:
Al juez me lleva!
Hijo!…Qué imagen miro? qué llorosa
Visión rompe la sombra, y blandamente
Como con luz de estrella la ilumina?
Hijo!… qué me demandan tus abiertos
Brazos? A qué descubres tu afligido
Pecho? Por qué me muestran tus desnudos
Pies, aún no heridos, y las blancas manos
Vuelves a mí?
Cesa! calla! reposa! Vive: el padre
No ha de morir hasta que la ardua lucha
Rico de todas armas lance al hijo!-
Ven, oh mi hijuelo, y que tus alas blancas
De los abrazos de la muerte oscura
Y de su manto funeral me libren!”
21- El puente de Manuel Benítez Carrasco
“¡Qué mansa pena me da!
El puente siempre se queda y el agua siempre se va.
I
El río es andar, andar
hacia lo desconocido;
ir entre orillas vencido
y por vencido, llorar.
El río es pasar, pasar
y ver todo de pasada;
nacer en la madrugada
de un manantial transparente
y morirse tristemente
sobre una arena salada.
El puente es como clavar
voluntad y fundamento;
ser piedra en vilo en el viento, ver pasar y no pasar.
El puente es como
cruzar aguas que van de vencida;
es darle la despedida
a la vida y a la muerte
y quedarse firme y fuerte
sobre la muerte y la vida.
Espejo tienen y hechura
mi espíritu y mi flaqueza, en este puente, firmeza,
y en este río, amargura.
En esta doble pintura
mírate, corazón mío,
para luego alzar con brío
y llorar amargamente, esto que tienes de puente
y esto que tienes de río.
II
¡Qué mansa pena me da!
El puente siempre se queda y el agua siempre se va.
Tristemente para los dos, amor mío, en el amor, uno es puente y otro, río.
Bajo un puente de suspiros agua de nuestro querer;
el puente sigue tendido, el agua no ha de volver.
¿Sabes tú, acaso, amor mío, quién de los dos es el puente, quién, el río?
Si fui yo río, qué pena
de no ser puente, amor mío;
si fui yo puente, qué pena de que se me fuera el río.
Agua del desengaño,
puente de olvido;
ya casi ni me acuerdo
que te he querido.
Puente de olvido.
Qué dolor olvidarse
de haber querido.
III
Ruinas de mi claridad, derrumbado en mi memoria tengo un puente de cristal.
Yo era como un agua clara cantando a todo cantar, y sin que me diera cuenta pasando a todo pasar.
El puente de mi inocencia se me iba quedando atrás;
un día volví los ojos, ¡qué pena!, y no lo vi más.
IV
Y seguramente, y seguramente
que no lo sabía;
de haberlo sabido…
no se hubiera roto el puente.
Ay… pero este puente…
¿pero es que no lo sabía…?
¿pero no sabía el puente
que yo te quería… ?
y seguramente que no lo sabía;
de haberlo sabido…
no se hubiera roto el puente.
¡Pero este maldito puente…!
¿Pero es que no lo sabía?
Pero no sabía el puente
que yo lo quise pasar
tan sólo por verte;
y seguramente
que no lo sabía;
de haberlo sabido…
no se hubiera roto el puente.
V
¡Qué miedo me da pensar!
y mientras se van los ríos
qué miedo me da pensar
que hay un gran río que pasa
pero que nunca se va.
Dios lo ve desde su puente
y lo llama: eternidad.
VI
Difícil conformidad:
el puente dice del río:
¡quién se pudiera marchar!
y el río dice del puente:
¡quién se pudiera quedar!
VII
Agua, paso por la vida;
piedra, huella de su paso;
río, terrible fracaso;
puente, esperanza cumplida.
En esta doble partida
procura, corazón mío, ganarle al agua con brío
esto que tienes de puente, y que pase buenamente
esto que tienes de río.
y aquí termino el cantar
de los puentes que se quedan, de las aguas que se van.”
22- A un poeta muerto de Luis Cernuda
“Así como en la roca nunca vemos
La clara flor abrirse, Entre un pueblo hosco y duro
No brilla hermosamente
El fresco y alto ornato de la vida.
Por esto te mataron, porque eras
Verdor en nuestra tierra árida
Y azul en nuestro oscuro aire.
Leve es la parte de la vida
Que como dioses rescatan los poetas.
El odio y destrucción perduran siempre
Sordamente en la entraña
Toda hiel sempiterna del español terrible, Que acecha lo cimero
Con su piedra en la mano.
Triste sino nacer
Con algún don ilustre
Aquí, donde los hombres
En su miseria sólo saben
El insulto, la mofa, el recelo profundo
Ante aquel que ilumina las palabras opacas
Por el oculto fuego originario.
La sal de nuestro mundo eras, Vivo estabas como un rayo de sol, Y ya es tan sólo tu recuerdo
Quien yerra y pasa, acariciando
El muro de los cuerpos
Con el dejo de las adormideras
Que nuestros predecesores ingirieron
A orillas del olvido.
Si tu ángel acude a la memoria, Sombras son estos hombres
Que aún palpitan tras las malezas de la tierra;
La muerte se diría
Más viva que la vida
Porque tú estás con ella, Pasado el arco de tu vasto imperio, Poblándola de pájaros y hojas
Con tu gracia y tu juventud incomparables.
Aquí la primavera luce ahora.
Mira los radiantes mancebos
Que vivo tanto amaste
Efímeros pasar junto al fulgor del mar.
Desnudos cuerpos bellos que se llevan
Tras de sí los deseos
Con su exquisita forma, y sólo encierran
Amargo zumo, que no alberga su espíritu
Un destello de amor ni de alto pensamiento.
Igual todo prosigue, Como entonces, tan mágico, Que parece imposible
La sombra en que has caído.
Mas un inmenso afán oculto advierte
Que su ignoto aguijón tan sólo puede
Aplacarse en nosotros con la muerte, Como el afán del agua,
A quien no basta esculpirse en las olas, Sino perderse anónima
En los limbos del mar.
Pero antes no sabías
La realidad más honda de este mundo:
El odio, el triste odio de los hombres, Que en ti señalar quiso
Por el acero horrible su victoria, Con tu angustia postrera
Bajo la luz tranquila de Granada, Distante entre cipreses y laureles, Y entre tus propias gentes
Y por las mismas manos
Que un día servilmente te halagaran.
Para el poeta la muerte es la victoria;
Un viento demoníaco le impulsa por la vida, Y si una fuerza ciega
Sin comprensión de amor
Transforma por un crimen
A ti, cantor, en héroe, Contempla en cambio, hermano, Cómo entre la tristeza y el desdén
Un poder más magnánimo permite a tus amigos
En un rincón pudrirse libremente.
Tenga tu sombra paz, Busque otros valles, Un río donde del viento
Se lleve los sonidos entre juncos
Y lirios y el encanto
Tan viejo de las aguas elocuentes, En donde el eco como la gloria humana ruede, Como ella de remoto, Ajeno como ella y tan estéril.
Halle tu gran afán enajenado
El puro amor de un dios adolescente
Entre el verdor de las rosas eternas;
Porque este ansia divina, perdida aquí en la tierra, Tras de tanto dolor y dejamiento, Con su propia grandeza nos advierte
De alguna mente creadora inmensa, Que concibe al poeta cual lengua de su gloria
Y luego le consuela a través de la muerte.
Como leve sonido:
hoja que roza un vidrio, agua que acaricia unas guijas, lluvia que besa una frente juvenil;
Como rápida caricia:
pie desnudo sobre el camino, dedos que ensayan el primer amor, sábanas tibias sobre el cuerpo solitario;
Como fugaz deseo:
seda brillante en la luz, esbelto adolescente entrevisto, lágrimas por ser más que un hombre;
Como esta vida que no es mía
y sin embargo es la mía, como este afán sin nombre
que no me pertenece y sin embargo soy yo;
Como todo aquello que de cerca o de lejos
me roza, me besa, me hiere, tu presencia está conmigo fuera y dentro, es mi vida misma y no es mi vida, así como una hoja y otra hoja
son la apariencia del viento que las lleva.
Como una vela sobre el mar
resume ese azulado afán que se levanta
hasta las estrellas futuras, hecho escala de olas
por donde pies divinos descienden al abismo, también tu forma misma, ángel, demonio, sueño de un amor soñado, resume en mí un afán que en otro tiempo levantaba
hasta las nubes sus olas melancólicas.
Sintiendo todavía los pulsos de ese afán, yo, el más enamorado, en las orillas del amor, sin que una luz me vea
definitivamente muerto o vivo, contemplo sus olas y quisiera anegarme, deseando perdidamente
descender, como los ángeles aquellos por la escala de espuma, hasta el fondo del mismo amor que ningún hombre ha visto.”
23- Vida de Alfonsina Storni
“Mis nervios están locos, en las venas
la sangre hierve, líquido de fuego
salta a mis labios donde finge luego
la alegría de todas las verbenas.
Tengo deseos de reír; las penas
que de donar a voluntad no alego, hoy conmigo no juegan y yo juego
con la tristeza azul de que están llenas.
El mundo late; toda su armonía
la siento tan vibrante que hago mía
cuando escancio en su trova de hechicera.
Es que abrí la ventana hace un momento
y en las alas finísimas del viento
me ha traído su sol la primavera”.
24- ¡Ah de la vida! de Francisco de Quevedo
“¡Ah de la vida!”… ¿Nadie me responde?
¡Aquí de los antaños que he vivido!
La Fortuna mis tiempos ha mordido;
las Horas mi locura las esconde.
¡Que sin poder saber cómo ni a dónde
la salud y la edad se hayan huido!
Falta la vida, asiste lo vivido, y no hay calamidad que no me ronde.
Ayer se fue; mañana no ha llegado;
hoy se está yendo sin parar un punto:
soy un fue, y un será, y un es cansado.
En el hoy y mañana y ayer, junto
pañales y mortaja, y he quedado
presentes sucesiones de difunto”.
25- La vida de Madre Teresa de Calcuta
“La vida es una oportunidad, aprovéchala, la vida es belleza, admírala, la vida es beatitud, saboréala, la vida es un sueño, hazlo realidad.
La vida es un reto, afróntalo;
la vida es un juego, juégalo, la vida es preciosa, cuídala;
la vida es riqueza, consérvala;
la vida es un misterio, descúbrelo.
La vida es una promesa, cúmplela;
la vida es amor, gózalo;
la vida es tristeza, supérala;
la vida es un himno, cántalo;
la vida es una tragedia, domínala.
La vida es aventura, vívela;
la vida es felicidad, merécela;
la vida es vida, defiéndela”.