Pablo Neruda Poems

... So today I don't feel like writing a lot, will keep it simple. The rain has put me in a mellow mood, didn't go gym yesterday as I forgot my wallet at home and hardly had anything to eat all day...

Going today, feels like I have to dig deep to go... but I will. I have to. Only 3 more days and then it's Easter weekend and we're off for a few days... enfin! :)

So I was browsing online...... then I remember hearing the name Pablo Neruda the other day, to be precise , I heard him in context with Paulo Coelho. Somebody had mistaken Mr Coelhos work for Mr Nerudas or maybe it was the other way around.
Either way, he caught my interest. So today I did some research on him and the result has been very satisfying...
His poems are heartfelt, deep and enlightning. Sometimes people write with such a passion you can almost feel the words. He does just that.

Here are 2 of my faves so far...

Love Sonnet XVII


I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you with knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

AND

Saddest Poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.

Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.