A Slow Death (A Morte Devagar) by Martha Medeiros

This is my rough translation from Portuguese, thanks to Google Translate and some Brazilian colleagues...

They die slowly who do not exchange ideas,
Nor exchange discourse.
Who avoid their own contradictions.

They die slowly who become a slave of habit.
Who repeat the same journeys every day,
And the same purchases at the market.
Who do not change brands,
Nor risk wearing a new color.
Who do not talk to someone they don't know.

They die slowly who make television their guru,
And their daily partner.
Many cannot afford a book or a movie ticket,
But many can, and still they alienate themselves, 
In front of a tube of images that informs and entertains, 
But should not, with just its few inches, occupy so much space in a life.

They die slowly who avoid a passion,
Who choose black over white and dotting i's to a whirlwind of turbulent emotions,
Precisely those that return glitter to our eyes,
That cause smiles and sobs, 
Heart stumblings and feelings.

They die slowly who do not turn the tables when unhappy at work,
Who do not risk certainty for the uncertainty of a dream. 
Who do not, at least once in their lives, run away from sound advice.

They die slowly who do not travel,
Who do not read,
Who do not listen to music,
Who do not find grace in themselves.

They die slowly who destroy their self-esteem.
It can be depression, a serious illness that requires professional help. 
They die every day who do not let themselves be helped. 

They die slowly who do not work and who do not study,
And most of the time this is not an option, but rather a destiny,
Then a government that is absent can slowly kill a good part of the population.

They die slowly who spend their days complaining,
About bad luck or incessant rain, 
Giving up on a project before starting it,
Not asking about a subject they don't know,
And not answering when asked what they do know. 
Many people die slowly,
And this is the most ungracious and treacherous death, 
Because when it comes close, 
We are ill-prepared to go through the little time remaining.
May that tomorrow, therefore, be late and instead be our special day.
But since we can not avoid a sudden end, at least avoid death in small doses, 
Always remembering that being alive demands an effort much greater than simply to breathe.