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I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
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
Certain
Long
Love
Forgetting
Short
Longer
Maybe
Forget
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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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Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes?
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Oh each successive night that comes has something in it of an abandoned ember that is slowly burning out, and it falls swathed in ruins, surrounded by funereal objects.
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Laughter is the language of the soul.
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I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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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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I want to do for you what the spring does for the cherry trees
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A child who does not play is not a child, but the man who doesn't play has lost forever the child who lived in him and who he will miss terribly.
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Then Scale by scale, We strip off The delicacy And eat The peaceful mush Of its green heart.
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Hands make the world each day.
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I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.
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Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.
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I was the owner of my own darkness.
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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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When did the lemons learn the same creed as the sun?
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I am made of earth, and my song made of words.
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The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.
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From scarlet to powdered gold, to blazing yellow, to the rare ashen emerald, to the orange and black velvet of your shimmering corselet, out to the tip that like an amber thorn begins you, small, superlative being, you are a miracle, and you blaze
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And what importance do I have in the courtroom of oblivion?
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It was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
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