Book: A dove in Santiago

The many faces of death... From suicide
can't be just one reason.
When for something to hold on can
we are not the end. Not that the end.
Death can be both
the face of the crowd, the face of the era
the paper, phone a friend,
the father's face, teacher face.
Death may be a person favorite
and even our mother's face.

People, people... the word Tattered,
which love spekulnut
sitting on the neck of the people,
accustomed to talk with the tribune about
how tenderly they love this neck.
A single nation in the world.
Anyway, people, two people,
those that sit on the neck of the other,
and those who the neck up.
And we must unlearn to substitute.

Their run together was through the age of haste,
where all run, but only in cases
and with suspicion you know
young running is not the case,
condemning them for nudelolitas,
as if in the world there are things more important,
than to be me, got rid of the cases.
There is beauty in bezadresnosti running
and for two, running was the main
not where to run, and that is through.
Through all the tips as they need to escape,
for someone to go and where to stay.
Through the thick crowds. Through gunfire and explosions.
Through right, left. Through the courtesy of others.
Through fears, and others, and their.
Through the whispers, which is better still.
Through all the warnings that the speed
dangerous bone fractures.
Through predatory grabbing hands
from all sides: "Here! Here! Over here!"
But there is a higher feast two,
when im anywhere when it is everywhere.

How can you believe that millionaires
expose another millionaire?

When, forgetting the third, two adults
child hit on the head each other,
then break the child's head.

The art is terrible the fact that every mortal
considers himself a connoisseur of art.
Do not climb after all, no chemistry ignorant,
neither Microbiology nor to the quarks.
The mother of the astronaut, holding back tears, -
well, the maximum that can suggest:
"Be careful in space, son..."
But in painting and literature
experts all and Sundry,
all know how do not, do not,
although it is impossible to understand what they need to.

Inside the big history of the Earth
there is a small history of the earth.
So many of them that historians will not suffice.
Which is a pity.
Suicidal all know
but the ignorance like a suicide,
only the worst, cowardly it is.
Life without knowledge is a dead platform.
Most life lives is.
The story is the relationship of the stories of lives.

Not immediately a person dies,
and particles from other diseases
such as indifference, cruelty,
quietly killing it.
But Woe to the man who
if he
disease such infected, -
then not only dead was he,
but, being dead, kills.

The fatigue of the exhausted body
easy compared to the fatigue of the soul,
but if two fatigue merge
one, - and to cry no power,
and I want to cry - especially when
so tired that I can't cry.