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Between Lips And Lips There Are Cities Of Great Ash And Moist Summit, Drops Of When And How, Vague Comings And Goings: Between Lips And Lips As Along A Shore Of Sand And Glass The Wind Passes.

-Pablo Neruda

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Between Lips And Lips

Pablo Neruda

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Between Lips And Lips There Are Cities Of Great Ash And Moist Summit, Drops Of When And How, Vague Comings And Goings: Between Lips And Lips As Along A Shore Of Sand And Glass The Wind Passes.

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More From Pablo Neruda

Two Things Make A Story. The Net And The Air That Falls Through The Net.

If You Should Ask Me Where I've Been All This Time I Have To Say "things Happen." I Have To Dwell On Stones Darkening The Earth, On The River Ruined In Its Own Duration: I Know Nothing Save Things The Birds Have Lost, The Sea I Left Behind, Or My Sister Crying. Why This Abundance Of Places? Why Does Day Lock With Day? Why The Dark Night Swilling Round In Our Mouths? And Why The Dead?

But When I Call For A Hero, Out Comes My Lazy Old Self; So I Never Know Who I Am, Nor How Many I Am Or Will Be. I'd Love To Be Able To Touch A Bell And Summon The Real Me, Because If I Really Need Myself, I Mustn't Disappear.

I Like On The Table, When We're Speaking, The Light Of A Bottle Of Intelligent Wine.

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.

How You Must Have Suffered Getting Accustomed To Me, My Savage, Solitary Soul, My Name That Sends Them All Running. So Many Times We Have Seen The Morning Star Burn, Kissing Our Eyes, And Over Our Heads The Grey Light Unwinds In Turning Fans.

How Much Does A Man Live, After All?/ Does He Live A Thousand Days, Or One Only? For A Week, Or For Several Centuries?/ How Long Does A Man Spend Dying?/ What Does It Mean To Say 'for Ever'?

Nobody Can Claim The Name Of Pedro, Nobody Is Rosa Or María, All Of Us Are Dust Or Sand, All Of Us Are Rain Under Rain. They Have Spoken To Me Of Venezuelas, Of Chiles And Paraguays; I Have No Idea What They Are Saying. I Know Only The Skin Of The Earth And I Know It Has No Name.

I Stood On The Balcony Dark With Mourning... Hoping The Earth Would Spread Its Wings In My Uninhabited Love.

Poetry Arrived In Search Of Me. I Don't Know, I Don't Know Where It Came From, From Winter Or A River. I Don't Know How Or When.

Day-colored Wine, Night-colored Wine, Wine With Purple Feet Or Wine With Topaz Blood, Wine, Starry Child Of Earth.

And Here Am I, Budding Among The Ruins With Only Sorrow To Bite On, As If Weeping Were A Seed And I The Earth's Only Furrow.

The Bare Earth, Plantless, Waterless, Is An Immense Puzzle. In The Forests Or Beside Rivers Everything Speaks To Humans. The Desert Does Not Speak. I Could Not Comprehend Its Tongue; Its Silence...

Hate Is Like A Swordfish, Working Through Water Invisibly And Then You See It Coming With Blood Along Its Blade, But Transparency Disarms It.

De Pronto No Puedo Decirte Lo Que Yo Te Debo Decir, Hombre,perdóname; Sabrás Que Aunque No Escuches Mis Palabras No Me Eché A Llorar Ni A Dormir Y Que Contigo Estoy Sin Verte Desde Hace Tiempo Y Hasta El Fin. I Can't Just Suddenly Tell You What I Should Be Telling You, Friend, Forgive Me; You Know That Although You Don't Hear My Words, I Wasn't Asleep Or In Tears, That I Am With You Without Seeing You For A Good Long Time And Until The End.

The Best Poet Is The Man Who Delivers Our Daily Bread: The Local Baker.

You Can Cut All The Flowers But You Cannot Keep Spring From Coming.

I Built Up These Lumber Piles Of Love, And With Fourteen Boards Each I Built Little Houses, So That Your Eyes, Which I Adore And Sing To, Might Live In Them. Now That I Have Declared The Foundations Of My Love, I Surrender This Century To You: Wooden Sonnets That Rise Only Because You Gave Them Life.

There Were Thirst And Hunger, And You Were The Fruit. There Were Grief And The Ruins, And You Were The Miracle.

Sometimes I Get Up At Dawn, And Even My Soul Is Wet.

Love Is Short, But Forgetting Is Long.

I Don't Know Who It Is Who Lives Or Dies, Who Rests Or Wakes, But It Is Your Heart That Distributes All The Graces Of The Daybreak In My Breast.

I Need The Sea Because It Teaches Me

The Word Was Born In The Blood, Grew In The Dark Body, Beating, And Took Flight Through The Lips And The Mouth. Farther Away And Nearer Still, Still It Came From Dead Fathers And From Wondering Races, From Lands Which Had Turned To Stone, Lands Weary Of Their Poor Tribes, For When Grief Took To The Roads The People Set Out And Arrived And Married New Land And Water To Grow Their Words Again. And So This Is The Inheritance; This Is The Wavelength Which Connects Us With Dead Men And The Dawning Of New Beings Not Yet Come To Light.

What Will They Say About My Poetry Who Never Touched My Blood?

I Love You Between Shadow And Soul. I Love You As The Plant That Hasn't Bloomed Yet, And Carries Hidden Within Itself The Light Of Flowers. I Love You Without Knowing How, Or When, Or From Where. Because Of You, The Dense Fragrance That Rises From The Earth Lives In My Body, Rioting With Hunger For The Eternity Of Our Victorious Kisses.

If We Were Not So Single-minded About Keeping Our Lives Moving And For Once Could Do Nothing, Perhaps A Huge Silence Might Interrupt This Sadness Of Never Understanding Ourselves And Of Threatening Ourselves With Death Perhaps The World Can Teach Us As When Everything Seems Dead But Later Proves To Be Alive.

I Have Named You Queen. There Are Taller Than You, Taller. There Are Purer Than You, Purer. There Are Lovelier Than You, Lovelier. But You Are The Queen. When You Go Through The Streets No One Recognizes You. No One Sees Your Crystal Crown, No One Looks At The Carpet Of Red Gold That You Tread As You Pass, The Nonexistent Carpet. And When You Appear All The Rivers Sound In My Body, Bells Shake The Sky, And A Hymn Fills The World. Only You And I, Only You And I, My Love, Listen To It.

Give Me Your Hand Out Of The Depths Sown By Your Sorrows.

And One By One The Nights Between Our Separated Cities Are Joined To The Night That Unites Us.

Long Distance Relationship

Your Wide Eyes Are The Only Light I Know From Extinguished Constellations.

I Stroll Along Serenely, With My Eyes, My Shoes, My Rage, Forgetting Everything.

So The Freshness Lives On In A Lemon, In The Sweet-smelling House Of The Rind, The Proportions, Arcane And Acerb.

Once More I Am The Silent One Who Came Out Of The Distance Wrapped In Cold Rain And Bells: I Owe To Earth's Pure Death The Will To Sprout.

Whom Can I Ask What I Came To Make Happen In This World? Why Do I Move Without Wanting To, Why Am I Not Able To Sit Still? Why Do I Go Rolling Without Wheels, Flying Without Wings Or Feathers, And Why Did I Decide To Migrate If My Bones Live In Chile?

Without Doubt I Praise The Wild Excellence.

Oh Each Successive Night That Comes Has Something In It Of An Abandoned Ember That Is Slowly Burning Out, And It Falls Swathed In Ruins, Surrounded By Funereal Objects.

Sufre Mas El Que Espera Siempre Que Aquel Que Nunca Espero A Nadie? Does He Who Is Always Waiting Suffer More Than He Who’s Never Waited For Anyone?

I Want To See Thirst In The Syllables, Tough Fire In The Sound; Feel Through The Dark For The Scream.

Love, How Many Roads To Obtain A Kiss.

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.

On Our Earth, Before Writing Was Invented, Before The Printing Press Was Invented, Poetry Flourished. That Is Why We Know That Poetry Is Like Bread; It Should Be Shared By All, By Scholars And By Peasants, By All Our Vast, Incredible, Extraordinary Family Of Humanity.

This Time Is Difficult. Wait For Me. We Will Live It Out Vividly. Give Me Your Small Hand: We Will Rise And Suffer, We Will Feel, We Will Rejoice. We Are Once More The Pair Who Lived In Bristling Places, In Harsh Nests In The Rock. This Time Is Difficult. Wait For Me With A Basket, With A Shovel, With Your Shoes And Your Clothes. Now We Need Each Other, Not Only For The Carnations' Sake, Not Only To Look For Honey — We Need Our Hands To Wash With, To Make Fire.

A Book, A Book Full Of Human Touches, Of Shirts, A Book Without Loneliness, With Men And Tools, A Book Is Victory.

The Typewriter Separated Me From A Deeper Intimacy With Poetry, And My Hand Brought Me Closer To That Intimacy Again.

Under Your Skin The Moon Is Alive.

If Suddenly You Do Not Exist, If Suddenly You Are Not Living, I Shall Go On Living. I Do Not Dare, I Do Not Dare To Write It, If You Die. I Shall Go On Living.

And When You Appear All The Rivers Sound In My Body, Bells Shake The Sky, And A Hymn Fills The World.

I Love You Without Knowing How, Or When, Or From Where. I Love You Simply, Without Problems Or Pride: I Love You In This Way Because I Do Not Know Any Other Way Of Loving But This, In Which There Is No I Or You, So Intimate That Your Hand Upon My Chest Is My Hand, So Intimate That When I Fall Asleep Your Eyes Close.

It Was At That Age That Poetry Came In Search Of Me.

Over Your Breasts Of Motionless Current, Over Your Legs Of Firmness And Water, Over The Permanence And The Pride Of Your Naked Hair I Want To Be, My Love, Now That The Tears Are Thrown Into The Raucous Baskets Where They Accumulate, I Want To Be, My Love, Alone With A Syllable Of Mangled Silver, Alone With A Tip Of Your Breast Of Snow.

I Want To Do To You What Spring Does With The Cherry Trees.

I Have Been A Lucky Man. To Feel The Intimacy Of Brothers Is A Marvelous Thing In Life. To Feel The Love Of People Whom We Love Is A Fire That Feeds Our Life. But To Feel The Affection That Comes From Those Whom We Do Not Know, From Those Unknown To Us, Who Are Watching Over Our Sleep And Solitude, Over Our Dangers And Our Weaknesses – That Is Something Still Greater And More Beautiful Because It Widens Out The Boundaries Of Our Being, And Unites All Living Things.

Am I Allowed To Ask My Book / Whether It's True I Wrote It?

From Sorrow To Sorrow Love Crosses Its Islands And Establishes Roots That Are Watered By Weeping.

From Scarlet To Powdered Gold, To Blazing Yellow, To The Rare Ashen Emerald, To The Orange And Black Velvet Of Your Shimmering Corselet, Out To The Tip That Like An Amber Thorn Begins You, Small, Superlative Being, You Are A Miracle, And You Blaze

Political Poetry Is More Profoundly Emotional Than Any Other-at Least As Much As Love Poetry-and Cannot Be Forced Because Then It Becomes Vulgar And Unacceptable. It Is Necessary First To Pan Though All Other Poetry In Order To Become A Political Poet.

Let Us Forget With Generosity Those Who Cannot Love Us

Don't Leave Me, Even For An Hour, Because Then The Little Drops Of Anguish Will All Run Together, The Smoke That Roams Looking For A Home Will Drift Into Me, Choking My Lost Heart.

You Can Crush The Flowers, But You Can't Stop The Spring.

Everything Is So Alive, That I Can Be Alive. Without Moving I Can See It All. In Your Life I See Everything That Lives.

My Feet Will Want To Walk To Where You Are Sleeping But I Shall Go On Living.

I Think It Was Very Informative, But A Lot Still Needs To Be Done.

The Tomato Offers Its Gift Of Fiery Color And Cool Completeness.

Love Is Brief: Forgetting Lasts So Long.

Conspirators In Pajamas Who Exchange Deep Kisses For Passwords.

I Learned About Life From Life Itself, Love I Learned In A Single Kiss And Could Teach No One Anything Except That I Have Lived With Something In Common Among Men.

The Hardest Way Of Learning Is That Of Easy Reading.

O Happy Childhood! Blessed Youth! But Once We Know Thy Potent Power; But Once We Live All Careless Free; No Cross To Mar Our Love-lit Bower.

Donde Termina El Arco Iris, En Tu Alma O En El Horizonte? Where Does The Rainbow End, In Your Soul Or On The Horizon?

Joyful, Joyful, Joyful, As Only Dogs Know How To Be Happy With Only The Autonomy Of Their Shameless Spirit.

Take Bread Away From Me, If You Wish, Take Air Away, But Do Not Take From Me Your Laughter.

Like Them You Are Tall And Taciturn, And You Are Sad, All At Once, Like A Voyage.

Ah, Love Is A Voyage With Water And A Star, In Drowning Air And Squalls Of Precipitate Bran; Love Is A War Of Lights In The Lightning Flashes, Two Bodies Blasted In A Single Burst Of Honey.

Today Is Today, And Yesterday Is Gone. There Is No Doubt.

The Morning Is Full Of Storm In The Heart Of Summer. The Clouds Travel Like White Handkerchiefs Of Goodbye, The Wind, Travelling, Waving Them In Its Hands. The Numberless Heart Of The Wind Beating Above Our Loving Silence. Orchestral And Divine, Resounding Among The Trees Like A Language Full Of Wars And Songs.

Oh To Follow The Road That Leads Away From Everything, Without Anguish, Death, Winter Waiting Along It With Their Eyes Open Through The Dew.

A Child Who Does Not Play Is Not A Child, But The Man Who Doesn't Play Has Lost Forever The Child Who Lived In Him And Who He Will Miss Terribly.

We Came By Night To The Fortunate Isles, And Lay Like Fish Under The Net Of Our Kisses.

She Did Not Speak For Speech Was Unknown To Her.

And That's Why I Have To Go Back To So Many Places There To Find Myself And Constantly Examine Myself With No Witness But The Moon And Then Whistle With Joy, Ambling Over Rocks And Clods Of Earth, With No Task But To Live, With No Family But The Road.

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You; I Go From Loving To Not Loving You, From Waiting To Not Waiting For You My Heart Moves From Cold To Fire. I Love You Only Because It's You The One I Love; I Hate You Deeply, And Hating You Bend To You, And The Measure Of My Changing Love For You Is That I Do Not See You But Love You Blindly. Maybe January Light Will Consume My Heart With Its Cruel Ray, Stealing My Key To True Calm. In This Part Of The Story I Am The One Who Dies, The Only One, And I Will Die Of Love Because I Love You, Because I Love You, Love, In Fire And Blood.

The Night Is Shattered, And The Blue Stars Shiver In The Distance.

To Feel The Affection That Comes From Those Whom We Do Not Know ... Widens Out The Boundaries Of Our Being, And Unites All Living Things.

Tomorrow We Will Only Give Them A Leaf Of The Tree Of Our Love, A Leaf Which Will Fall On The Earth Like If It Had Been Made By Our Lips Like A Kiss Which Falls From Our Invincible Heights To Show The Fire And The Tenderness Of A True Love.

Love! Love Until The Night Collapses!

The Truth Is In The Prolouge. Death To The Romantic Fool., The Expert In Solitary Confinement.

We Are Dust And To Dust Return. In The End We're Neither Air, Nor Fire, Nor Water, Just Dirt, Neither More Nor Less, Just Dirt, And Maybe Some Yellow Flowers.

Only Do Not Forget, If I Wake Up Crying It's Only Because In My Dream I'm A Lost Child Hunting Through The Leaves Of The Night For Your Hands.

There Is No Insurmountable Solitude.

Fue Adondo A Mi Me Perdieron Quw Logre Por Fin Encontrarme? Was It Where They Lost Me That I Finally Found Myself?

If Nothing Saves Us From Death, At Least Love Should Save Us From Life

All Paths Lead To The Same Goal: To Convey To Others What We Are.

Love Is A War Of Lightning, And Two Bodies Ruined By A Single Sweetness. Kiss By Kiss I Cover Your Tiny Infinity, Your Margins, Your Rivers, Your Diminutive Villages, And A Genital Fire, Transformed By Delight, Slips Through The Narrow Channels Of Blood To Precipitate A Nocturnal Carnation, To Be, And Be Nothing But Light In The Dark.

When I Got The Chance I Asked Them A Slew Of Questions. They Offered To Burn Me; It Was The Only Thing They Knew.

The Road Made Wet By The Water Of August Shines Like It Was Cut In Full Moonlight

And I, Infinitesimal Being, Drunk With The Great Starry Void, Likeness, Image Of Mystery, I Felt Myself A Pure Part Of The Abyss, I Wheeled With The Stars, My Heart Broke Loose On The Wind.

Look Around—there's Only One Thing Of Danger For You Here—poetry.

Give Me, For My Life, All Lives, Give Me All The Pain Of Everyone, I'm Going To Turn It Into Hope. Give Me All The Joys, Even The Most Secret, Because Otherwise How Will These Things Be Known? I Have To Tell Them, Give Me The Labors Of Everyday, For That's What I Sing.

Of Everything I Have Seen, It's You I Want To Go On Seeing: Of Everything I've Touched, It's Your Flesh I Want To Go On Touching. I Love Your Orange Laughter. I Am Moved By The Sight Of You Sleeping. What Am I To Do, Love, Loved One? I Don't Know How Others Love Or How People Loved In The Past. I Live, Watching You, Loving You. Being In Love Is My Nature.

When I Sleep Every Night, What Am I Called Or Not Called? And When I Wake, Who Am I If I Was Not I While I Slept?

I've Come Within Range Of Hate. Terrifying, Its Tremors, Its Dizzying Obsessions. Hate's Like A Swordfish Invisible In The Water, Knifing Suddenly Into Sight With Blood On Its Blade- Clear Water Misleads You.

While I'm Writing, I'm Far Away; And When I Come Back, I've Gone.

Take It All Back. Life Is Boring, Except For Flowers, Sunshine, Your Perfect Legs. A Glass Of Cold Water When You Are Really Thirsty. The Way Bodies Fit Together. Fresh And Young And Sweet. Coffee In The Morning. These Are Just Moments. I Struggle With The In-betweens. I Just Want To Never Stop Loving Like There Is Nothing Else To Do, Because What Else Is There To Do?

Maybe Nothingness Is To Be Without Your Presence, Without You Moving, Slicing The Noon Like A Blue Flower, Without You Walking Later Through The Fog And The Cobbles, Without The Light You Carry In Your Hand, Golden, Which Maybe Others Will Not See, Which Maybe No One Knew Was Growing Like The Red Beginnings Of A Rose. In Short, Without Your Presence: Without Your Coming Suddenly, Incitingly, To Know My Life, Gust Of A Rosebush, Wheat Of Wind: Since Then I Am Because You Are, Since Then You Are, I Am, We Are, And Through Love I Will Be, You Will Be, We Will Be.

In The House Of Poetry Nothing Endures That Is Not Written With Blood To Be Heard With Blood.

And The Verse Falls To The Soul Like Dew To The Pasture.

As If You Were On Fire From Within. The Moon Lives In The Lining Of Your Skin.

And What Has Become Of It, Where Is That Onetime Love? Now It Is The Grave Of A Bird, A Drop Of Black Quartz, A Chunk Of Wood Eroded By The Rain.

Someday, Somewhere - Anywhere, Unfailingly, You'll Find Yourself, And That, And Only That, Can Be The Happiest Or Bitterest Hour Of Your Life.

Finding Yourself

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.

Tie Your Heart At Night To Mine, Love, And Both Will Defeat The Darkness Like Twin Drums Beating In The Forest Against The Heavy Wall Of Wet Leaves. Night Crossing: Black Coal Of Dream That Cuts The Thread Of Earthly Orbs With The Punctuality Of A Headlong Train That Pulls Cold Stone And Shadow Endlessly. Love, Because Of It, Tie Me To A Purer Movement, To The Grip On Life That Beats In Your Breast, With The Wings Of A Submerged Swan, So That Our Dream Might Reply To The Sky's Questioning Stars With One Key, One Door Closed To Shadow.

But If Each Day, Each Hour, You Feel That You Are Destined For Me With Implacable Sweetness, If Each Day A Flower Climbs Up To Your Lips To Seek Me, Ah My Love, Ah My Own, In Me All That Fire Is Repeated, In Me Nothing Is Extinguished Or Forgotten, My Love Feeds On Your Love, Beloved, And As Long As You Live It Will Be In Your Arms Without Leaving Mine.

Then Scale By Scale, We Strip Off The Delicacy And Eat The Peaceful Mush Of Its Green Heart.

I Have Slept With You All Night Long While The Dark Earth Spins With The Living And The Dead, And On Waking Suddenly In The Midst Of The Shadow My Arm Encircled Your Waist. Neither Night Nor Sleep Could Separate Us.

And It Follows That I Am, Because You Are: It Follows From 'you Are', That I Am, And We: And, Because Of Love, You Will, I Will, We Will, Come To Be.

Well, Now If Little By Little You Stop Loving Me I Shall Stop Loving You Little By Little If Suddenly You Forget Me Do Not Look For Me For I Shall Already Have Forgotten You If You Think It Long And Mad The Wind Of Banners That Passes Through My Life And You Decide To Leave Me At The Shore Of The Heart Where I Have Roots Remember That On That Day, At That Hour, I Shall Lift My Arms And My Roots Will Set Off To Seek Another Land

At Night I Dream That You And I Are Two Plants That Grew Together, Roots Entwined, And That You Know The Earth And The Rain Like My Mouth, Since We Are Made Of Earth And Rain.

Eating Alone Is A Disappointment. But Not Eating Matter More, Is Hollow And Green, Has Thorns Like A Chain Of Fish Hooks, Trailing From The Heart, Clawing At Your Insides. Hunger Feels Like Pincers, Like The Bite Of Crabs; It Burns, Burns, And Has No Fur. Let Us Sit Down Soon To Eat With All Those Who Haven't Eaten; Let Us Spread Great Tablecloths, Put Salt In Lakes Of The World, Set Up Planetary Bakeries, Tables With Strawberries In Snow, And A Plate Like The Moon Itself From Which We Can All Eat. For Now I Ask No More Than The Justice Of Eating.

I Will Bring You Flowers From The Mountains, Bluebells, Dark Hazels, And Rustic Baskets Of Kisses. I Want To Do With You What Spring Does With The Cherry Trees.

Laughter Is The Language Of The Soul.

Latin America Is Very Fond Of The Word "hope." We Like To Be Called The "continent Of Hope." Candidates For Deputy, Senator, President, Call Themselves "candidates Of Hope." This Hope Is Really Something Like A Promise Of Heaven, An Iou Whose Payment Is Always Being Put Off. It Is Put Off Until The Next Legislative Campaign, Until Next Year, Until The Next Century.

I Love All Things, Not Only The Grand But The Infinitely Small: Thimble, Spurs, Plates, Flower Vases.

You Know How This Is: If I Look At The Crystal Moon, At The Red Branch Of The Slow Autumn At My Window, If I Touch Near The Fire The Impalpable Ash Or The Wrinkled Body Of The Log, Everything Carries Me To You, As If Everything That Exists, Aromas, Light, Metals, Were Little Boats That Sail Toward Those Isles Of Yours That Wait For Me.

And What Importance Do I Have In The Courtroom Of Oblivion?

About Me, Nothing Worse They Will Tell You, My Love, Than What I Told You

What Does Autumn Go On Paying For With So Much Yellow Money?

Your House Sounds Like A Train At Midday, The Wasps Buzz, The Saucepans Sing, The Waterfall Enumerates The Deeds Of The Dew . . .

Writing Poetry, We Live Among The Wild Beasts, And When We Touch A Man, The Stuff Of Someone In Whom We Believed, And He Goes To Pieces Like A Rotten Pie, You... Gather Together Whatever Can Be Salvaged, While I Cup My Hands Around The Live Coal Of Life.

Love, What A Long Way, To Arrive At A Kiss.

When Your Hands Leap Towards Mine, Love, What Do They Bring Me In Flight?

I Want To Eat The Sunbeam Flaring In Your Lovely Body... And I Pace Around Hungry, Sniffing The Twilight, Hunting For You, For Your Hot Heart, Like A Puma In The Barrens Of Quitratue.

White Bee, Even When You Are Gone You Buzz In My Soul You Live Again In Time, Slender And Silent.

When Everything Seems To Be Set To Show Me Off As Intelligent, The Fool I Always Keep Hidden Takes Over All That I Say.

Loving Is A Journey With Water And With Stars, With Smothered Air And Abrupt Storms Of Flour: Loving Is A Clash Of Lightning-bolts And Two Bodies Defeated By A Single Drop Of Honey.

But I Love Your Feet Only Because They Walked Upon The Earth And Upon The Wind And Upon The Waters, Until They Found Me.

Oh, May Your Silhouette Never Dissolve On The Beach; May Your Eyelids Never Flutter Into The Empty Distance. Don't Leave Me For A Second, My Dearest.

And I, A Materialist Who Does Not Believe In The Starry Heaven Promised To A Human Being, For This Dog And For Every Dog I Believe In Heaven, Yes, I Believe In A Heaven That I Will Never Enter, But He Waits For Me Wagging His Big Fan Of A Tail So I, Soon To Arrive, Will Feel Welcomed.

Megaphone In Which The Wind Passes Singing.

I Want To Do For You What The Spring Does For The Cherry Trees

Peace Goes Into The Making Of A Poem As Flour Goes Into The Making Of Bread.

Do Tears Not Yet Spilled Wait In Small Lakes?

Whom Can I Ask What I Came To Make Happen In This World?

I Love You As Certain Dark Things Are To Be Loved, In Secret, Between The Shadow And The Soul.

I Say Love, And The World Populates Itself With Doves.

Raw Hatred Took Its Time Making An Outpost Of Its Rage And Prepared For Me A Savage Crown With Rusty, Bloodstained Spikes. It Wasn't Pride That Made Me Keep My Heart At A Distance From Such Terror, Nor Did I Waste On Revenge Or The Pursuit Of Power The Forces That Came From My Selfish Griefs Or My Accumulated Joys. It Was Something Else-my Helplessness.

Death Is The Stone Into Which Our Oblivion Hardens.

It Was My Destiny To Love And Say Goodbye.

I Grew Up In This Town, My Poetry Was Born Between The Hill And The River, It Took Its Voice From The Rain, And Like The Timber, It Steeped Itself In The Forests.

The Ardent Hymn That Unites Peoples.

We Bear The Sole, Relentless Tenderness.

Give Me Silence, Water, Hope Give Me Struggle, Iron, Volcanoes.

Poetry Is An Act Of Peace.

I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair.

Who Writes Your Name In Letters Of Smoke Among The Stars Of The South? Oh Let Me Remember You As You Were Before You Existed.

Green Was The Silence, Wet Was The Light, The Month Of June Trembled Like A Butterfly.

Maybe Someone Will Know I Didn't Weave Crowns To Draw Blood; That I Faught Against Mockery; That I Did Fill The High Tide Of My Soul With Truth. I Repaid Vileness With Doves.

In This Part Of The Story I Am The One Who Dies, The Only One, And I Will Die Of Love Because I Love You, Because I Love You, Love, In Fire And In Blood.

I Have Never Thought Of My Life As Divided Between Poetry And Politics.

In Love, You Have Loosened Yourself Like Seawater

I Ask Permission To Be Like Everybody Else,like The Rest Of The World And What's More, Like Anybody Else:i Beg You, With All My Heart,if We Are Talking About Me, Since We Are Talking About Me,please Resist Blasting The Trumpet During My Visitand Resign Yourselves To My Quiet Absence.

Will Our Life Not Be A Tunnel Between Two Vague Clarities? Or Will It Not Be A Clarity Between Two Dark Triangles?

Here I Came To The Very Edge Where Nothing At All Needs Saying, Everything Is Absorbed Through Weather And The Sea, And The Moon Swam Back, Its Rays All Silvered, And Time And Again The Darkness Would Be Broken By The Crash Of A Wave, And Every Day On The Balcony Of The Sea, Wings Open, Fire Is Born, And Everything Is Blue Again Like Morning.

With Which Stars Do They Go On Speaking,the Rivers That Never Reach The Sea?

Absence Is A House So Vast That Inside You Will Pass Through Its Walls And Hang Pictures On The Air.

Love Is A War Of Lightning, And Two Bodies Ruined By A Single Sweetness.

You & I, Love, Together We Ratify The Silence, While The Sea Destroys Its Perpetual Statues, Collapses Its Towers Of Wild Speed And Whiteness: Because In The Weavings Of Those Invisible Fabrics, Galloping Water, Incessant Sand, We Make The Only Permanent Tenderness.

Who Do I Belong To? How Come I Mortgaged My Being Till I Don't Belong To Myself? How Come I Sold My Blood? And Who Now Owns My Indecisions, My Hands, My Private Pain, My Pride?

Only A Burning Patience Will Lead To The Attainment Of A Splendid Happiness.

You Are Like Nobody Since I Love You.

And I Watch My Words From A Long Way Off. They Are More Yours Than Mine. They Climb On My Old Suffering Like Ivy. It Climbs The Same Way On Damp Walls. You Are To Blame For This Cruel Sport. They Are Fleeing From My Dark Lair. You Fill Everything, You Fill Everything. Before You They Peopled The Solitude That You Occupy, And They Are More Used To My Sadness Than You Are. Now I Want Them To Say What I Want To Say To You To Make You Hear As I Want You To Hear Me.

Like A Jar You Housed The Infinite Tenderness, And The Infinite Oblivion Shattered You Like A Jar.

If You No Longer Live, If You My Beloved, My Love, If You Have Died, All The Leaves Will Fall In My Breast, It Will Rain In My Soul Night And Day, The Snow Will Burn My Heart, I Shall Walk With Frost And Fire And Death And Snow, My Feet Will Want To Walk To Where You Are Sleeping, But I Shall Live

Hay Algo Más Tonto En La Vida Que Llamarse Pablo Neruda? (is There Anything More Insane In This Life Than Being Called Pablo Neruda?)

But From Each Crime Are Born Bullets That Will One Day Seek Out In You Where The Heart Lies.

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.

To Love Is To Tilt With The Lightning, Two Bodies Routed By A Single Honey's Sweet.

I Move In The University Of The Waves.

I Do Not Love You-except Because I Love You; I Go From Loving To Not Loving You, From Waiting To Not Waiting For You My Heart Moves From The Cold Into The Fire.

So I Wait For You Like A Lonely House Till You Will See Me Again And Live In Me. Till Then My Windows Ache.

Love Is So Short, Forgetting Is So Long.

You Are Like Night, Calmed, Constellated. Your Silence Is Star-like, As Distant, As True.

I Am Everybody And Every Time, I Always Call Myself By Your Name.

Every Day You Play With The Light Of The Universe.

I Love All The Things There Are, And Of All Fires Love Is The Only Inexhaustible One; And That's Why I Go From Life To Life.

Inspirational Love

As Slippery As Smooth Grapes, Words Exploding In The Light Like Dormant Seeds Waiting In The Vaults Of Vocabulary, Alive Again, And Giving Life: Once Again The Heart Distills Them.

To Harden The Earth The Rocks Took Charge: Instantly They Grew Wings: The Rocks That Soared: The Survivors Flew Up The Lightning Bolt, Screamed In The Night, A Watermark, A Violet Sword, A Meteor. The Succulent Sky Had Not Only Clouds, Not Only Space Smelling Of Oxygen, But An Earthly Stone Flashing Here And There Changed Into A Dove, Changed Into A Bell, Into Immensity, Into A Piercing Wind: Into A Phosphorescent Arrow, Into Salt Of The Sky.

Why Do Trees Conceal The Splendor Of Their Roots?

Everything Is Ceremony In The Wild Garden Of Childhood.

He Who Has Nothing—it Has Been Said Many Times—has Nothing To Lose But His Chains.

Nothing To Lose

I Have Forgotten Your Love, Yet I Seem To Glimpse You In Every Window.

Hands Make The World Each Day.

Who Hasn't Sharpened The Edge Of His Soul? When, Just As Our Eyes Are Opened, We See Hate, And Just After Learning To Walk, We Are Tripped, And Just For Wanting To Love, We Are Hated, And For No More Than Touching, We Are Hurt, Which Of Us Hasn't Started To Arm Himself, To Make Himself Sharp, Somehow, Like A Knife, To Pay Back The Hurt?

Bitter Love, A Violet With It's Crown Of Thorns In A Thicet Of Spiky Passions, Spear Of Sorrow, Corolla Of Rage: How Did You Come To Conquer My Soul? What Brought You?

Where Were You Then? Who Else Was There? Saying What? Why Will The Whole Of Love Come On Me Suddenly When I Am Sad And Feel You Are Far Away?

Oh Love, Rose Made Wet By Mermaids And Foams, Fire That Dances And Climbs Up The Invisible Stairs And Awakens The Blood In The Tunnel Of Sleeplessness.

I'm Not Me But Living Matter Fermenting And Forming Its Own Shapes In The Fruitfulness Of Every Day.

We Have To Discard The Past / And, As One Builds / Floor By Floor, Window By Window, / And The Building Rises, / So Do We Keep Shedding - First, Broken Tiles, / Then Proud Doors... And Each New Day / Gleams / Like An Empty / Plate.

And Our Problems Will Crumble Apart, The Soul / Blow Through Like A Wind, And Here Where We Live Will All Be Clean Again, With Fresh Bread On The Table.

Como Se Reparten El Sol En El Naranjo Las Naranjas? How Do The Oranges Divide Up Sunlight In The Orange Tree?

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