POETRY, LIFE AND ...NIGHT DREAMS.

Before flying to ... my night dreams I 'd like to share some beautiful lines with you. Among my favourite poems, one by PABLO NERUDA. It's titled "Muere lentamente" (Dies slowly)

Dies Slowly
he who becomes a slave of habit,

repeating same path every day,

he who never changes brands.

Who doesn't risk wearing a new colour

And doesn't speak to whom he doesn't know.

Dies Slowly
he who makes the television his guru.

he who avoids a passion,

he who prefers black on white

and dotted "i"s to a whirlwind of emotions,

precisely those that rescue the brilliance of one's eyes,

smiles from yawns,

hearts from disappointments and sorrows.

Dies Slowly

he who doesn't turn the table when he's unhappy at his job,he who doesn't risk the certain for the uncertain to follow a dream,he who doesn't permit himself at least once in his life,to flee from sensible advice.
Dies Slowlyhe who doesn't travel, he who doesn't read,he who doesn't listen to music,he who doesn't find humor in himself.
Dies Slowlyhe who destroys his own love,he who doesn't allow himself to help.Dies Slowlyhe who passes the days complaining of his bad luckor of the incessant rain.
Dies Slowlyhe who abandons a project before starting it,not asking about an unfamiliar subjectornot answering when they inquire about something he knows.We avoid death in soft quotes, remembering that to be alive requiresan effort much greater than the simple fact of breathing.Only with ardent patience will we conquer a splendid happiness.

But I must admit I like it better in its original version, that is to say in Spanish.

So, for those of you who can read Spanish, enjoy this:

Muere lentamente

quien se transforma en esclavo del hábito,

repitiendo todos los días los mismos trayectos,

quien no cambia de marca, no arriesga vestir un color nuevo

y no le habla a quien no conoce.

Muere lentamente

quien evita una pasión, quien prefiere el negro sobre blanco y los

puntos sobre las "íes" a un remolino de emociones, justamente las que

rescatan el brillo de los ojos, sonrisas de los bostezos

corazones a los tropiezos y sentimientos.

Muere lentamente

quien no voltea la mesa, cuando está infeliz en el trabajo,

quien no arriesga lo cierto por lo incierto para ir detrás de un sueño,

quien no se permite por lo menos una vez en la vida,

huir de los consejos sensatos.

Muere lentamente quien no viaja,

quien no lee, quien no oye música,

quien no encuentra gracia en sí mismo.

Muere lentamente

quien destruye su amor propio, quien no se deja ayudar.

Muere lentamente,

quien pasa los días quejándose de su mala suerte o de la lluvia incesante.

Muere lentamente,

quien abandona un proyecto antes de iniciarlo, no preguntando de un

asunto que desconoce o no respondiendo cuando le indagan sobre algo que sabe.

Evitemos la muerte en suaves cuotas, recordando siempre que estar vivo

exige un esfuerzo mucho mayor que el simple hecho de respirar.

Solamente la ardiente paciencia hará que conquistemos una espléndida felicidad.

P.S. Sweet dreams. Till very soon for what I promised, "Being a woman at Jane Austen's time".