Poetry is an act of peace. Peace goes into the making of a poet as flour goes into the making of bread.
Pablo NerudaTag: 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.
Tag: 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.
Tag: 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.
Tag: 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.
Tag: love
You are like nobody since I love you.
Pablo NerudaTag: 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.
« prima precedente
Pagina 5 di 42.
prossimo ultimo »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.