Every body knows this poem, this is the original name, but can also be know in English as "Die Slowly" or "Dying slowly" or in Romanian as "Moare cate putin" or "Cine moare" and probably ten more other translations, in each language. Oh, come on of course you know the poem, it that poem that everybody loves and worse everybody knows that it is Pablo Neruda's poem. Well maybe not everybody, but most people do, and it is wrong and i don't like it. Plus it takes something (a lot) away from the real writer.

SO, once and for all the writer of this poem is Martha Medeiros, a Brazilian journalist and writer.

Oh, what poem you ask? Well here it comes

( Original version )
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 hace de la Television su guia.
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.

Hmm, does it ring a bell, not sure, well maybe the English version will help more

( English version )
Dies slowly he who transforms himself in slave of habit, 
repeating every day the same itineraries,
who does not change brand,
does not risk to wear a new color and doesn't talk to whom doesn't know.
Dies slowly he who makes of television his guru.
Dies slowly he who avoids a passion,
who prefers black to white
and the dots on the "i" to a whirlpool of emotions,
just those ones that recover the gleam from the eyes,
smiles from the yawns, hearts from the stumbling and feelings.
Dies slowly he who does not overthrow the table
when is unhappy at work,
who does not risk the certain for the uncertain
to go toward that dream that is keeping him awake.
Who does not allow, at least one time in life, to flee from sensate advises.
Dies slowly he who does not travel, does not read,
does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself.
Dies slowly he who destroys his self love,
who does not accept somebody's help.
Dies slowly he who passes his days complaining of his bad luck or the incessant rain.
Dies slowly he who abandons a project before starting it,
who does not ask over a subject that does not know
or who does not answer when being asked about something he knows.
Dies slowly he who does not share his emotions, joys and sadness,
who does not trust, who does not even try.
Dies slowly he who does not relive his memories
and continues getting emotional as if living them at that moment.
Dies slowly he who does not intent excelling,
who does not learn from the stones of the road of life,
who does not love and let somebody love.
Let's avoid death in soft quotes,
remembering always that to be alive demands an effort much bigger
that the simple fact of breathing.
Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.

See, now that's better. And you read a poem today and also learned something new. And also at the end of the post you will find an interesting thing about the Romanian version.

And for my Romanian readers, in case you still didn't figure out that poem i was talking about, well here it comes.

( Romanian Version )
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 raspunsul. 
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 asta in fiecare zi... 

In a strange way the Romanian version is longer, it has 9 more verses (the non-bold ones) that i could not find in the original version(s) - i would really love to know/read which is the actual version the writer wrote - , nor in the countless English translations. What is strange is that i love the poem the way it is, but these last verses make it so much nicer and i didn't know, when i heard the poem the first time, that they are not part of it. I am far from being a poet so i will just try to translate them word by word.

"It all depends on how we live it...
If it were to heat up, heat up sunbathing,
If it were to cheat, cheat you stomach,
If it were to cry, cry of happiness,
If it were to lie, lie about your age,
If it were to steal, steal a kiss,
If it were to lose, lose your fear,
If it were to feel hungry, feel hungry of love
If it were to wish for happiness, wish for that every day...."