I Love Your Feet

More Neruda:

But I love your feet

only because they walked

upon the earth and upon

the wind and upon the waters,

until they found me.

When I Fall Asleep Your Eyes Close

From Pablo Neruda:

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.

And I Wrote the First Faint Line

Reading about the writing life, I came across this poem by Pablo Neruda. There isn't much to say about it other than, 'write on.'

Poetry
by Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age...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, 
no, they were not voices, they were not 
words, nor silence, 
but from a street I was summoned, 
from the branches of night, 
abruptly from the others, 
among violent fires 
or returning alone, 
there I was without a face 
and it touched me. 

I did not know what to say, my mouth 
had no way 
with names 
my eyes were blind, 
and something started in my soul, 
fever or forgotten wings, 
and I made my own way, 
deciphering 
that fire 
and I wrote the first faint line, 
faint, without substance, pure 
nonsense, 
pure wisdom 
of someone who knows nothing, 
and suddenly I saw 
the heavens 
unfastened 
and open, 
planets, 
palpitating plantations, 
shadow perforated, 
riddled 
with arrows, fire and flowers, 
the winding night, the universe. 

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. 

We Have Lost Even

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.

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.