Quote

I got lost in the night, without the light of your eyelids, and when the night surrounded me I was born again: I was the owner of my own darkness.

Pablo Neruda

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Pablo Neruda
Age: 69 †
Born: 1904
Born: July 12
Died: 1973
Died: September 23
Author
Autobiographer
Diplomat
Lyricist
Poet
Politician
Senator Of Chile
Nieh-lu-ta
Neftalí Reyes Basoalto
Pamplo Nerouda
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes
Bāblū Nīrūdā
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto
Nieluda
Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto
Neftali Reyes Basualto
Neftali Reyes Basoalto
Neftali Ricardo Reyes
Neftalí Reyes Basualto
Pāplō Nerūda
Darkness
Born
Lost
Night
Light
Eyelids
Without
Owner
Surrounded
Owners

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Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
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It was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
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Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air away, but do not take from me your laughter.
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Love, what a long way, to arrive at a kiss.
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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?
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Perhaps this war will pass like the others which divided us leaving us dead, killing us along with the killers but the shame of this time puts its burning fingers to our faces. Who will erase the ruthlessness hidden in innocent blood?
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I want to see the thirst inside the syllables I want to touch the fire in the sound: I want to feel the darkness of the cry. I want words as rough as virgin rocks.” - Verb.
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I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and its winter.
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Joyful, joyful, joyful, as only dogs know how to be happy with only the autonomy of their shameless spirit.
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Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
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my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping but I shall go on living.
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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.
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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.
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Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand.
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Two things make a story. The net and the air that falls through the net.
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I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything.
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Give me silence, water, hope Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.
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Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?
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I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.
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so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.
Pablo Neruda