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Once more I am the silent one who came out of the distance wrapped in cold rain and bells: I owe to earth's pure death the will to sprout.

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
Winter
Death
Distance
Earth
Rain
Silent
Sprout
Pure
Sprouts
Cold
Wrapped
Silence
Bells
Came

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In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.
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Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
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In the distance someone is singing.
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I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything.
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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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Love is a clash of lightnings
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Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.
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I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.
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What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?
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I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.
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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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The bare earth, plantless, waterless, is an immense puzzle. In the forests or beside rivers everything speaks to humans. The desert does not speak. I could not comprehend its tongue its silence...
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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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And what has become of it, where is that onetime love? Now it is the grave of a bird, a drop of black quartz, a chunk of wood eroded by the rain.
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Fue adondo a mi me perdieron quw logre por fin encontrarme? Was it where they lost me that I finally found myself?
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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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What did the earth teach the trees? How to speak to the sky.
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For now I ask no more Than the justice of eating.
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I have slept with you all night long while the dark earth spins with the living and the dead, and on waking suddenly in the midst of the shadow my arm encircled your waist. Neither night nor sleep could separate us.
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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.
Pablo Neruda