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Hopes for everyone

November 5, 2011

A couple of months ago I was trying to “tidy up” my computer and I remember that when I was a teenager, I used to search on internet things like this poetry called “HOPES”. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did:

First of all I wish you to love someone, and loving being loved too.
And if not, you be brief on forgetting it
and after forgetting, you may keep no grudges.

I hope it won’t be like that … but if it is
I wish you to know how to be without despair.

I also wish you to have friends, and
even bad and inconsistent, be brave and faithful;
and that, at least, you have one in whom you can trust without hesitation.

And because life is like that, I wish you to have enemies too.
Not many, only a few ones, so you don’t feel too safe
and sometimes you can question your own certainties.
And among them, you have at least a fair one.

I also want you to be useful, but not irreplaceable.
And in bad times, when there’s nothing
that utility will be enough to keep you standing up.

Also, I wish you to be tolerant;

not with those who are wrong a bit, because that’s easy,
but with those who act hopelessly wrong
and making good use of that tolerance, you will serve as an example to others.
I hope that being young doesn’t mature too quickly,
and mature, you don’t insist on rejuvenating,
and that being old you don’t spend your time to despair

because every age has its pleasure and pain
and all this must influence us.

I wish you to be sad; not every year, but just one day,
Because on that day you’ll discover that laugh is good for that moment,
that usually laugh is dull and constant laugh is unhealthy.

I hope you’ll discover with utmost urgency,
above and despite all, that around us exist
human beings oppressed, treated unjustly and unhappy people.

I hope you stroke a cat, nourish a bird
and hear the triumphant singing of a goldfinch in the morning,
because doing that, you will feel good for nothing.

I would also like you to plant a seed
the most tiny one, and follow its growth
so you’ll discover how many lives have a tree.

I hope also you save money because it’s
important to be practical and at least

once a year put a part of it

in front of you and say, ‘This is mine ”
just to make it clear who owns whom.
I hope at last, being women, have nice men
and being men, have good women
and love each other today, tomorrow and the next day
and then, when you were exhausted
talk about love to start again.

P.S.: Obviosuly this isn’t mine, I’ve just tried to adapt it into English

6 Comments leave one →
  1. November 6, 2011 9:07 am

    Hi Cynthia,

    really, it’s a nice poetry although a bit sad because for me it’s the will of a father to his little children. Therefore, the author was dieing when he wrote the poetry.

    Do you know the author?

  2. franeoivlc permalink
    November 7, 2011 1:02 am

    Nice post Cynthia, this words have remind me a video with thoughts that make you feel good like your post. I have played it again and I still think its really good. I hope you enjoy it.

  3. Cynthia permalink
    November 8, 2011 1:05 pm

    alpa72, I’ve tried to look for the author but I’ve found nothing at all. Did you know that poem? Because you said the author was dying when he wrote it…

    franeoivlc you’re right, nice video (and I’ll add lovely melody!) Thank’s for sharing it!

  4. marisadedios permalink*
    November 8, 2011 5:51 pm

    Thanks Cynthia for sharing such a nice poem with us, and also to Fran, of course. We should follow this advice, we keep forgetting the important things of life.

  5. Lorena Gallego permalink
    November 9, 2011 10:28 pm

    This poem was written by Victor Hugo. Cinthya lovely choice.

    And Fran, I watched this ad few year ago and I finished crying, beatiful images and music and good advice. It’s a pity that in our daily life we easily forget what things are really important and what not.

    Thank you both for remind us about it.

  6. January 22, 2012 7:55 pm

    Thanks Cinthya for this lovely, hardbreaking and moving poem. I´d really like it.

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