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In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.

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
Dreams
Land
Eyes
Eye
Dream
Mourning
Begins

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The Ardent Hymn that Unites Peoples.
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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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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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Will our life not be a tunnel between two vague clarities? Or will it not be a clarity between two dark triangles?
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Look around—there's only one thing of danger for you here—poetry.
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Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
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If suddenly you do not exist, If suddenly you are not living, I shall go on living. I do not dare, I do not dare to write it, if you die. I shall go on living.
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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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I want to do for you what the spring does for the cherry trees
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I do not love you-except because I love you I go from loving to not loving you, from waiting to not waiting for you my heart moves from the cold into the fire.
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If each day falls inside each night, there exists a well where clarity is imprisoned. We need to sit on the rim of the well of darkness and fish for fallen light with patience.
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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.
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My soul is an empty carousel at sunset.
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Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?
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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 am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.
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Hour of nostalgia, hour of happiness, hour of solitude.
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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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