Cucurrucucu Paloma

They say that every night

He was overtaken by tears
They say he wouldn’t eat
He didn't feel like having any food
They swear that even the sky
Was vibrating by listening to his weeping
How he was suffering for her,
And even when he was dying he was calling at her:
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay he was singing
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay he was wailing
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay he was singing
He was dying from mortal passion.
That a sad dove
early in the morning will sing
At the lonely house
Whose small doors are widely open
Swear that this dove
Is no other than his soul,
That is still waiting
For the unhappy woman to return.
Cucurrucucú dove, cucurrucucú don’t cry.
The stones will never, dove
will know of love.

Dove: a symbol of innocence, gentleness, tenderness and peace.

I Do Not LOVE you except because I LOVE you

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.


Pablo Neruda

The kiss - Auguste Rodin

Dies Slowly

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 is 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 upside down,
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, dies slowly.

He who does not travel,
who does not read,
who does not listen to music,
who does not find grace in himself, 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 who don’t reply when they are asked something they do know, dies slowly.

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

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

Pablo Neruda

card by Paulo Zerbato