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I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.

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
Seems
Every
Love
Glimpse
Forgotten
Window
Seem

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Laughter is the language of the soul.
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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 grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.
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Shyness is a condition foreign to the heart - a category, a dimension which leads to loneliness.
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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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Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
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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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Under your skin the moon is alive.
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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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Oh love, rose made wet by mermaids and foams, fire that dances and climbs up the invisible stairs and awakens the blood in the tunnel of sleeplessness.
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sometimes i get up at dawn, and even my soul is wet.
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When everything seems to be set to show me off as intelligent, the fool I always keep hidden takes over all that I say.
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Nobody can claim the name of Pedro, nobody is Rosa or María, all of us are dust or sand, all of us are rain under rain. They have spoken to me of Venezuelas, of Chiles and Paraguays I have no idea what they are saying. I know only the skin of the earth and I know it has no name.
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I believed that the way passed through Man, and that it was from there that destiny had to emerge.
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Without doubt I praise the wild excellence.
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Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.
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Like a jar you housed the infinite tenderness, and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
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I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything.
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About me, nothing worse they will tell you, my love, than what I told you
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To feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know ... widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things.
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