25 BEAUTIFUL POEMS ABOUT LIFE - LITERATURE - 2025

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”.