Die Slowly (a poem translated from Portuguese)

Die Slowly    by Martha Medeiros

He who becomes the slave of habit,
who follows the same routines every day,
who never changes brand,
who does not risk and change the color of his clothes,
who does not talk to people he doesn't know,
dies slowly.

He who makes television his guru
dies slowly.

He or she who shuns passion,
who prefers black on white, 
and the dots on the "i" to a whirlpool of emotions,
precisely those that recover the gleam of the eyes,
smiles from the yawns,
hearts from the stumbling 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 cannot hear music,
who does not find grace in himself,
dies slowly. 

He who slowly destroys his self love,
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 abandons a project before starting it,
who fails to ask questions on subjects he doesn't know,
he or she who doesn't reply 
when they are asked something they know,
dies slowly.

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

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