Poetry is an act of peace. Peace goes into the making of a poet as flour goes into the making of bread.
Pablo NerudaMots clés poetry
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.
Mots clés poetry pablo-neruda
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.
Mots clés love poetry memory kisses pablo-neruda
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
Mots clés love passion poetry sonnet-xi
Por eso tengo que volver
a tantos sitios veneridos
para encontrarme conmigo
y examinarme sin cesar
sin testigo que la luna,
y luego silbar de alegria
pisando piedras y terrones
sin tarea que existir
sin familia que el camino
I want
To do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Mots clés love
You are like nobody since I love you.
Pablo NerudaMots clés love
I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty.
Pablo NerudaGive me silence, water, hope
Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.
So the freshness lives on
in a lemon,
in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
the proportions, arcane and acerb.
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