A man who sees beyond his nose.

This time I would like to share a poem by the Uruguayan writer Mario Benedetti (1920-2009). I came across with this poem for the first time during my high school days, and it came back to my mind suddenly a few days ago. This witting turns out to be a very nice teaching to remind us that the night is at its darkest just before the dawn and that every new day brings an opportunity to regain hope and keep on going, no matter if things are currently going south for everyone.
I provide a translation to English made by myself. Please enjoy!

Hombre que mira más allá de sus narices de Mario Benedetti

"Hoy me despierto tosco y solitario.
No tengo a nadie para dar mis quejas,
nadie a quien echar mis culpas de quietud.
Sé que hoy me van a cerrar todas las puertas,
y que no llegará cierta carta que espero.
Que habrá malas noticias en los diarios,
que la que quiero no pensará en mí.
Y lo que es mucho peor,
que pensarán en mi los coroneles.
Que el mundo será un oscuro
paquete de angustias,
que muchos otros aquí o en cualquier parte
se sentirán también toscos y solos,
que el cielo se derrumbará
como un techo podrido,
y hasta mi sombra
se burlará de mis confianzas…

Menos mal
que me conozco…

Menos mal que mañana
o a más tardar pasado,
sé que despertaré alegre y solidario
con mi culpita bien lavada y planchada,
y no solo se me abrirán las puertas
sino también las ventanas y las vidas,
y la carta que espero llegará
y la leeré seis o siete veces,
y las malas noticias de los diarios
no alcanzarán a cubrir las buenas nuevas,
y la que quiero
pensará en mi hasta conmoverse.
Y lo que es muchísimo mejor
los coroneles me echarán al olvido,
y no solo yo, muchos otros también
se sentirán solidarios y alegres.
Y a nadie le importará
que el cielo se derrumbe,
y más de uno dirá que ya era hora,
y mi sombra empezará a mirarme con respeto.
Será buena
tan buena la jornada,
que desde ya
mi soledad se espanta"

Translation:

"Today I wake up clumsy and lonely.
I've got no one to complain to,
no one to blame on to about my quietude.
I know that all doors will close on me,
and that certain letter I am waiting for will not arrive.
That there will be bad news on the newspapers,
that my beloved one will not think of me.
And what is much worse,
that the Colonels will think of me.
That the world will be
a dark package of anguishes,
that many others here or anywhere else
will also feel clumsy and lonely,
that the sky will crumble
like a rotten ceiling,
and even my shadow
will make fun of my confidences.

Luckily
I know myself…

Luckily tomorrow
or the day after tomorrow at latest,
I know I will wake up joyful and caring
with my little guilt well washed and ironed,
and not only the doors will open for me
but also the windows and the lives,
and the letter I am waiting for will arrive
and I will read it six times or seven,
and the bad news on the newspapers
will not be enough to cover the good ones,
and my beloved one
will think of me until she feels moved.
And  what is much better
the Colonels will throw me into oblivion,
and not only me, but many others too
will feel caring and joyful.
And no one will care
if the sky will crumble,
and more than one will say that there was already time,
and my shadow will start seeing me with respect.
It will be so good,
the day will be so good
that even from now
my loneliness gets frightened…"