For a month or so, I have been journeying on a poetic path. Everything from the Ghazals of Ghalib
to the pastoral poems of Virgil
. But always, always, I return to Neruda. Lately I cannot shake the beauty of We Have Lost Even
. Oh how I wish it had come from my heart.
to the pastoral poems of Virgil. But always, always, I return to Neruda. Lately I cannot shake the beauty of We Have Lost Even. Oh how I wish it had come from my heart.We Have Lost Even
by Pablo Neruda
We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.
I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.
Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin between my hands.
I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.
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?
The book fell that is always turned to at twilight
and my cape rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.
Always, always you recede through the evenings
towards where the twilight goes erasing statues.
