Pablo Neruda - "Die slowly"/ "Cine moare?"

RO:

CINE MOARE?

de Pablo Neruda

Moare cate putin
cine se transforma in sclavul obisnuintei,
urmand in fiecare zi aceleasi traiectorii;
cine nu-si schimba existenta;
cine nu risca sa construiasca ceva nou;
cine nu vorbeste cu oamenii pe care nu-i cunoaste.

Moare cate putin
cine-si face din televiziune un guru.

Moare cate putin
cine evita pasiunea,
cine prefera negrul pe alb si punctele pe "i" in locul unui vartej de emotii,
acele emotii care invata ochii sa staluceasca,
oftatul sa surada si care elibereaza sentimentele inimii.

Moare cate putin
cine nu pleaca atunci cand este nefericit in lucrul sau;
cine nu risca certul pentru incert pentru a-si indeplini un vis;
cine nu-si permite macar o data in viata sa nu asculte sfaturile "responsabile".

Moare cate putin
cine nu calatoreste;
cine nu citeste;
cine nu asculta muzica;
cine nu cauta harul din el insusi.

Moare cate putin
cine-si distruge dragostea;
cine nu se lasa ajutat

Moare cate putin
cine-si petrece zilele plangandu-si de mila si detestand ploaia care nu mai inceteaza.

Moare cate putin
cine abandoneaza un proiect inainte de a-l fi inceput;
cine nu intreaba de frica sa nu se faca de ras si
cine nu raspunde chiar daca cunoaste intrebarea.

Evitam moartea cate putin,
amintindu-ne intotdeauna ca "a fi viu" cere un efort mult mai mare decat simplul fapt de a respira.
Doar rabdarea cuminte ne va face sa cucerim o fericire splendida.
Totul depinde de cum o traim...

Daca va fi sa te infierbanti, infierbanta-te la soare
Daca va fi sa inseli, inseala-ti stomacul.
Daca va fi sa plangi, plange de bucurie.
Daca va fi sa minti, minte in privinta varstei tale.
Daca va fi sa furi, fura o sarutare.
Daca va fi sa pierzi, pierde-ti frica.
Daca va fi sa simti foame, simte foame de iubire.
Daca va fi sa doresti sa fii fericit, doreste-ti in fiecare zi...

EN:

DIE SLOWLY

by Pablo Neruda

He who becomes the slave of habit,
who follows the same routes every day,
who never changes pace,
who does not risk and change the color of his clothes,
who does not speak and does not experience,
dies slowly.

He or she who shuns passion,
who prefers black on white,
dotting ones "it’s" rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer,
that turn a yawn into a smile,
that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings,
dies slowly.

He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy,
who is unhappy at work,
who does not risk certainty for uncertainty,
to thus follow a dream,
those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives,
die slowly.

He who does not travel, who does not read,
who does not listen to music,
who does not find grace in himself,
she who does not find grace in herself,
dies slowly.

He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem,
who does not allow himself to be helped,
who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops,
dies slowly.

He or she who abandon a project before starting it,
who fail to ask questions on subjects he doesn't know,
he or she who don't reply when they are asked something they do know,
die slowly.

Let's try and avoid death in small doses,
reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing.

Only a burning patience will lead
to the attainment of a splendid happiness.