Each in the most hidden sack kept
the lost jewels of memory,
intense love, secret nights and permanent kisses,
the fragment of public or private happiness.
A few, the wolves, collected thighs,
other men loved the dawn scratching
mountain ranges or ice floes, locomotives, numbers.
For me happiness was to share singing,
praising, cursing, crying with a thousand eyes.
I ask forgiveness for my bad ways:
my life had no use on earth.
Stichwörter: love poetry memory kisses pablo-neruda
The days aren't discarded or collected, they are bees
that burned with sweetness or maddened
the sting: the struggle continues,
the journeys go and come between honey and pain.
No, the net of years doesn't unweave: there is no net.
They don't fall drop by drop from a river: there is no river.
Sleep doesn't divide life into halves,
or action, or silence, or honor:
life is like a stone, a single motion,
a lonesome bonfire reflected on the leaves,
an arrow, only one, slow or swift, a metal
that climbs or descends burning in your bones.
Stichwörter: poetry pablo-neruda memories
We the mortals touch the metals,
the wind, the ocean shores, the stones,
knowing they will go on, inert or burning,
and I was discovering, naming all the these things:
it was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
Stichwörter: poetry pablo-neruda
Soy el desesperado, la palabra sin ecos, el que lo perdiò todo, y el que todo lo tuvo.
Pablo NerudaStichwörter: poetry poesía pablo-neruda
Neruda had his first dream,
First meeting with the Moon and the Sun
In sunny La Mancha, hiding in his heart,
Where he learned how to sing like a nightingale.
Stichwörter: sun heart moon singing neruda pablo-neruda nightingale dejan-stojanovic la-mancha
I taste you
in the fleshy fruit of the guayaba
that melts as slowly
as your kisses
in my mouth –
your eyes that explode in sunlight,
your humid, fluid voice
the soft, oceanic touch of your fingertips.
Stichwörter: pablo-neruda bear-step garcia-lorca island-flirtation tropical-poetry un-beso-de-fuego
Our love was born
outside the walls,
in the wind,
in the night,
in the earth,
and that's why the clay and the flower,
the mud and the roots
know your name.
Stichwörter: love poetry nature earth pablo-neruda
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