IT IS PROHIBITED

What is the trully important thing,
I look for in myself the answer,
and it is so difficult to find.
False ideas invade my mind,
customary to mask what it does not understand,
stunned in a world of unreal illusions,
where the vanity, the fear, the wealth,
the violence, hatred, the indifference,
they become adored heroes,
it is not strange to me that as much confusion exists,
as much distance of everything, as much disappointment!
You ask to me how it is possible to be happy,
how in between of many lies one can coexist,
everyone is the one who must respond,
although for me, here, now and for always:
It is prohibited to cry without learning,
to raise a day without knowing what to do,
to be scared of my memories,
to feel lonely sometimes.
It is prohibited not to smile of the problems,
not to fight for what I want,
to leave everything just because I am scared,
not to turn into facts my dreams.
Is prohibited not to show you my love,
to make you pay for my doubts and my bad humor,
to invent things to me that never happened,
remember you only when I do not have to you.
It is prohibited to leave my friends,
not to try to include/understand what we lived,
to only call to them when I need them,
not to see that also we are different.
It is prohibited not to be I before people,
to pretend before the people that they do not matter to me,
to be graceful just for they to remember to me,
to forget all those that they want me.
It is prohibited not to make the things by myself,
not to believe in my God and to find my destiny,
to be scared of the life and its punishments,
not to live every day as if it was my last sigh.
It is prohibited missing you without cheering me,
to hate the moments that made me hate you,
everything because our ways have let embrace themselves,
to forget our past and to pay it with our present.
It is prohibited not to try to include/understand the people,
to think that their lives are worth more than mine,
not knowing that each one has its way and its happiness,
to feel that with its lack the world is finished.
It is prohibited not to create my history,
to let thank to my family for my life,
not to have time for the people who need to me,
not forgot that what the life gives us, also takes from us.

Alfredo Crow or Pablo Neruda ???

<small>[ April 25, 2003, 01:05 PM: Message edited by: matilde ]</small>