Quote

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.

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
Clean
Wind
Crumble
Problems
Fresh
Problem
Table
Soul
Tables
Live
Apart
Like
Bread
Blow

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Someone will ask later, sometimes searching for a name, his own or someone's else's why I neglected his sadness or his love... But I didn't have enough time or ink for everyone. Or maybe it was the strain of the city, of time the cold heart of the clocks.
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There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle.
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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.
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Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.
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In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.
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Two things make a story. The net and the air that falls through the net.
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I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.
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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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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.
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I love all things, not only the grand but the infinitely small: thimble, spurs, plates, flower vases.
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The typewriter separated me from a deeper intimacy with poetry, and my hand brought me closer to that intimacy again.
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What did the earth teach the trees? How to speak to the sky.
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I was the owner of my own darkness.
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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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I stood on the balcony dark with mourning... hoping the earth would spread its wings in my uninhabited love.
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The night is shattered, and the blue stars shiver in the distance.
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Oh to follow the road that leads away from everything, without anguish, death, winter waiting along it with their eyes open through the dew.
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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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Hands make the world each day.
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I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.
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