[Esp./Eng.] La Semilla de un Verso Humano. || The Seed of a Human Verse.
If you prefer the English version, click on the following link 👉 HERE
La Semilla de un Verso Humano
DĂ©cima por la Paz Universal
No quiero un mundo en un mar
de gente que no se siente,
que vive tan indiferente
que no se atreve a mirar.
La paz no está en un lugar
remoto, sino en tu mano,
en el gesto más humano
de compartir la tristeza
y el pan sobre nuestra mesa…
AsĂ te nombro, hermano.
Este poema nace de una sensaciĂłn que seguro muchos compartimos; la impotencia y la tristeza al ver el sufrimiento en el mundo. El verso «que vive tan indiferente / que no se atreve a mirar» me toca directamente el corazĂłn porque señala nuestra herida más grande como sociedad. A veces, para protegernos del dolor, creamos un escudo de indiferencia, nos volvemos expertos en mirar para otro lado. Vemos las noticias de una guerra lejana o la necesidad de un vecino y seguimos con nuestro dĂa, como si no fuera con nosotros.
Pero el poema no se queda en la queja. Me conmueve porque me recuerda que el poder del cambio no está en los grandes discursos, sino «en tu mano». La paz deja de ser una idea abstracta y se convierte en una acción concreta, humana y cercana: el gesto de reconocer el dolor ajeno («compartir la tristeza») y el acto fundamental de la solidaridad («el pan sobre nuestra mesa»).
Por eso este poema es una invitaciĂłn a despertar. Nos empuja a dejar de ser espectadores pasivos de nuestras propias vidas y del mundo. Nos recuerda que cada vez que elegimos la empatĂa sobre la apatĂa, cada vez que tendemos una mano en lugar de un puño, estamos sembrando la paz. Y al llamar al otro «hermano», derribamos todos los muros, todas las fronteras y todas las excusas.
Dedicado a todos aquellos que, dĂa a dĂa, con su arte, hacen del mundo un lugar mejor.
The Seed of a Human Verse
Tenth for Universal Peace:
I don't want a world in a sea
of people who don't feel,
who live so indifferently
that they don't dare to look.
Peace isn't in a remote place,
but in your hand,
in the most human gesture
of sharing sadness
and the bread on our table…
That's how I name you, brother.
This poem is born from a feeling that I'm sure many of us share: the helplessness and sadness of seeing the suffering in the world. The verse “who lives so indifferently / that he doesn't dare to look” touches my heart directly because it points to our greatest wound as a society. Sometimes, to protect ourselves from pain, we create a shield of indifference; we become experts at looking the other way. We see the news of a distant war or the need of a neighbour, and we go on with our day, as if it weren't our concern.
But the poem doesn't stop at complaining. It moves me because it reminds me that the power of change lies not in grand speeches, but “in your hands.” Peace ceases to be an abstract idea and becomes a concrete, human, and relatable action: the gesture of acknowledging the pain of others (“sharing sadness”) and the fundamental act of solidarity (“bread on our table”).
That's why this poem is an invitation to awaken. It pushes us to stop being passive spectators of our own lives and of the world. It reminds us that every time we choose empathy over apathy, every time we extend a hand instead of a fist, we are sowing peace. And by calling others “brother,” we tear down all walls, all borders, and all excuses.
Dedicated to all those writers who contribute, day by day, to making our planet a better world.
Posted Using INLEO
DĂ©cima por la Paz Universal
No quiero un mundo en un mar
de gente que no se siente,
que vive tan indiferente
que no se atreve a mirar.
La paz no está en un lugar
remoto, sino en tu mano,
en el gesto más humano
de compartir la tristeza
y el pan sobre nuestra mesa…
AsĂ te nombro, hermano.
Este poema nace de una sensaciĂłn que seguro muchos compartimos; la impotencia y la tristeza al ver el sufrimiento en el mundo. El verso «que vive tan indiferente / que no se atreve a mirar» me toca directamente el corazĂłn porque señala nuestra herida más grande como sociedad. A veces, para protegernos del dolor, creamos un escudo de indiferencia, nos volvemos expertos en mirar para otro lado. Vemos las noticias de una guerra lejana o la necesidad de un vecino y seguimos con nuestro dĂa, como si no fuera con nosotros.
Pero el poema no se queda en la queja. Me conmueve porque me recuerda que el poder del cambio no está en los grandes discursos, sino «en tu mano». La paz deja de ser una idea abstracta y se convierte en una acción concreta, humana y cercana: el gesto de reconocer el dolor ajeno («compartir la tristeza») y el acto fundamental de la solidaridad («el pan sobre nuestra mesa»).
Por eso este poema es una invitaciĂłn a despertar. Nos empuja a dejar de ser espectadores pasivos de nuestras propias vidas y del mundo. Nos recuerda que cada vez que elegimos la empatĂa sobre la apatĂa, cada vez que tendemos una mano en lugar de un puño, estamos sembrando la paz. Y al llamar al otro «hermano», derribamos todos los muros, todas las fronteras y todas las excusas.
Este poema nace de una sensaciĂłn que seguro muchos compartimos; la impotencia y la tristeza al ver el sufrimiento en el mundo. El verso «que vive tan indiferente / que no se atreve a mirar» me toca directamente el corazĂłn porque señala nuestra herida más grande como sociedad. A veces, para protegernos del dolor, creamos un escudo de indiferencia, nos volvemos expertos en mirar para otro lado. Vemos las noticias de una guerra lejana o la necesidad de un vecino y seguimos con nuestro dĂa, como si no fuera con nosotros.
Pero el poema no se queda en la queja. Me conmueve porque me recuerda que el poder del cambio no está en los grandes discursos, sino «en tu mano». La paz deja de ser una idea abstracta y se convierte en una acción concreta, humana y cercana: el gesto de reconocer el dolor ajeno («compartir la tristeza») y el acto fundamental de la solidaridad («el pan sobre nuestra mesa»).
Por eso este poema es una invitaciĂłn a despertar. Nos empuja a dejar de ser espectadores pasivos de nuestras propias vidas y del mundo. Nos recuerda que cada vez que elegimos la empatĂa sobre la apatĂa, cada vez que tendemos una mano en lugar de un puño, estamos sembrando la paz. Y al llamar al otro «hermano», derribamos todos los muros, todas las fronteras y todas las excusas.
Dedicado a todos aquellos que, dĂa a dĂa, con su arte, hacen del mundo un lugar mejor.
The Seed of a Human Verse
Tenth for Universal Peace:
I don't want a world in a sea
of people who don't feel,
who live so indifferently
that they don't dare to look.
Peace isn't in a remote place,
but in your hand,
in the most human gesture
of sharing sadness
and the bread on our table…
That's how I name you, brother.
This poem is born from a feeling that I'm sure many of us share: the helplessness and sadness of seeing the suffering in the world. The verse “who lives so indifferently / that he doesn't dare to look” touches my heart directly because it points to our greatest wound as a society. Sometimes, to protect ourselves from pain, we create a shield of indifference; we become experts at looking the other way. We see the news of a distant war or the need of a neighbour, and we go on with our day, as if it weren't our concern.
But the poem doesn't stop at complaining. It moves me because it reminds me that the power of change lies not in grand speeches, but “in your hands.” Peace ceases to be an abstract idea and becomes a concrete, human, and relatable action: the gesture of acknowledging the pain of others (“sharing sadness”) and the fundamental act of solidarity (“bread on our table”).
That's why this poem is an invitation to awaken. It pushes us to stop being passive spectators of our own lives and of the world. It reminds us that every time we choose empathy over apathy, every time we extend a hand instead of a fist, we are sowing peace. And by calling others “brother,” we tear down all walls, all borders, and all excuses.
Dedicated to all those writers who contribute, day by day, to making our planet a better world.
Posted Using INLEO
Tenth for Universal Peace:
I don't want a world in a sea
of people who don't feel,
who live so indifferently
that they don't dare to look.
Peace isn't in a remote place,
but in your hand,
in the most human gesture
of sharing sadness
and the bread on our table…
That's how I name you, brother.
This poem is born from a feeling that I'm sure many of us share: the helplessness and sadness of seeing the suffering in the world. The verse “who lives so indifferently / that he doesn't dare to look” touches my heart directly because it points to our greatest wound as a society. Sometimes, to protect ourselves from pain, we create a shield of indifference; we become experts at looking the other way. We see the news of a distant war or the need of a neighbour, and we go on with our day, as if it weren't our concern.
But the poem doesn't stop at complaining. It moves me because it reminds me that the power of change lies not in grand speeches, but “in your hands.” Peace ceases to be an abstract idea and becomes a concrete, human, and relatable action: the gesture of acknowledging the pain of others (“sharing sadness”) and the fundamental act of solidarity (“bread on our table”).
That's why this poem is an invitation to awaken. It pushes us to stop being passive spectators of our own lives and of the world. It reminds us that every time we choose empathy over apathy, every time we extend a hand instead of a fist, we are sowing peace. And by calling others “brother,” we tear down all walls, all borders, and all excuses.
This poem is born from a feeling that I'm sure many of us share: the helplessness and sadness of seeing the suffering in the world. The verse “who lives so indifferently / that he doesn't dare to look” touches my heart directly because it points to our greatest wound as a society. Sometimes, to protect ourselves from pain, we create a shield of indifference; we become experts at looking the other way. We see the news of a distant war or the need of a neighbour, and we go on with our day, as if it weren't our concern.
But the poem doesn't stop at complaining. It moves me because it reminds me that the power of change lies not in grand speeches, but “in your hands.” Peace ceases to be an abstract idea and becomes a concrete, human, and relatable action: the gesture of acknowledging the pain of others (“sharing sadness”) and the fundamental act of solidarity (“bread on our table”).
That's why this poem is an invitation to awaken. It pushes us to stop being passive spectators of our own lives and of the world. It reminds us that every time we choose empathy over apathy, every time we extend a hand instead of a fist, we are sowing peace. And by calling others “brother,” we tear down all walls, all borders, and all excuses.
Dedicated to all those writers who contribute, day by day, to making our planet a better world.
Posted Using INLEO