Today I have discovered Gabriel Garcia Marquez once again. Most of you would probably know him from the classics, for instance, One Hundred Years of Solitude or Love in the Time of Cholera. He also is claimed to have written an inspirational masterpiece, a genuinely magnificent gift to the mankind – The Puppet. Even though it is said that the real author of the poem is Johnny Welch, everyone gives credits to Marquez.
Every time I read this poem in any kind of Language – English, my native Lithuanian or original Spanish, every word of his blows my mind. It is immensely easy to overdose the genuineness of the writer’s artwork of mind.
Here are some lines you can think about before going to sleep. Read it slowly. Do not let anything distract you. Let every word permeate to your mind. Breathe in. Breathe out. Begin.
If for a moment God would forget that I am a rag doll and give me a scrap of life, possibly I would not say everything that I think, but I would definitely think everything that I say.
I would value things not for how much they are worth but rather for what they mean.
I would sleep little, dream more. I know that for each minute that we close our eyes we lose sixty seconds of light.
I would walk when the others loiter; I would awaken when the others sleep.
I would listen when the others speak, and how I would enjoy a good chocolate ice cream.
If God would bestow on me a scrap of life, I would dress simply, I would throw myself flat under the sun, exposing not only my body but also my soul.
My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hatred on ice and wait for the sun to come out. With a dream of Van Gogh I would paint on the stars a poem by Benedetti, and a song by Serrat would be my serenade to the moon.
With my tears I would water the roses, to feel the pain of their thorns and the incarnated kiss of their petals…My God, if I only had a scrap of life…
I wouldn’t let a single day go by without saying to people I love, that I love them.
I would convince each woman or man that they are my favourites and I would live in love with love.
I would prove to the men how mistaken they are in thinking that they no longer fall in love when they grow old–not knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love. To a child I would give wings, but I would let him learn how to fly by himself. To the old I would teach that death comes not with old age but with forgetting. I have learned so much from you men….
I have learned that everybody wants to live at the top of the mountain without realizing that true happiness lies in the way we climb the slope.
I have learned that when a new-born first squeezes his father’s finger in his tiny fist, he has caught him forever.
I have learned that a man only has the right to look down on another man when it is to help him to stand up. I have learned so many things from you, but in the end most of it will be no use because when they put me inside that suitcase, unfortunately I will be dying.
Enjoy the little things. (Patrick watching his grandma pouring honey to the glass jars.) 2013
According to those who believe that Gabriel wrote this poem, the writing itself is a goodbye letter which was written to his closest acquaintances after feeling the suffocation of cancer. People say that you start valuing things only when you lose them. Sadly, it is 100 per cent truth. I have never cherished the gift of sight after the severe deterioration of my eyes. I have never realised the beauty of friendship until I lost some people who would make my micro cosmos a better place.
Why is it so hard to realise the charm of little things that surround us while having them nearby? Is it so difficult to stop complaining about the present and start finding the good in every detail? It is always the hardest to get out of the bed after the alarm clock rings. We suddenly find the sheets softer, more comfortable and inviting you to stay there for a bit longer. The magic of knowing that you will not be able to enjoy the comfort after putting your feet on the cold floor makes you fall in love with every moment you are in bed. You are here and now; loving the very second of your being.
I have to admit it – I read this letter every once in a while. Some read Bible. Being an agnostic I look for my prayers in this poem. You can find yours anywhere you want. I have discovered mine in the words of Marquez.
22,05,2014
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