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Give me silence, water, hope Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.

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
Volcanoes
Iron
Silence
Struggle
Water
Hope
Give
Giving

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My soul is an empty carousel at sunset.
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Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
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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.
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I want to see thirst In the syllables, Tough fire In the sound Feel through the dark For the scream.
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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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Shyness is a condition foreign to the heart - a category, a dimension which leads to loneliness.
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When did the lemons learn the same creed as the sun?
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With which stars do they go on speaking,the rivers that never reach the sea?
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Love, what a long way, to arrive at a kiss.
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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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O merry, merry, merry, like only dogs know how to be happy and nothing more, with an absolute shameless nature.
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Day-colored wine, night-colored wine, wine with purple feet or wine with topaz blood, wine, starry child of earth.
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Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.
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Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.
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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'?
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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.
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In the distance someone is singing.
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I'm not me but living matter fermenting and forming its own shapes in the fruitfulness of every day.
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sometimes i get up at dawn, and even my soul is wet.
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I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
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