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Love has to be…flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.
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
Flowering
Kiss
Kissing
Stars
Love
Like
Measureless
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The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.
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I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything.
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I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.
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It was at that age that poetry came in search of me.
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He who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly.
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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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Love is the mystery of water and a star.
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Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.
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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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Love! Love until the night collapses!
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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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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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But when I call for a hero, out comes my lazy old self so I never know who I am, nor how many I am or will be. I'd love to be able to touch a bell and summon the real me, because if I really need myself, I mustn't disappear.
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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
Pablo Neruda
And I, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, I felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.
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Love, how many roads to obtain a kiss.
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A book, a book full of human touches, of shirts, a book without loneliness, with men and tools, a book is victory.
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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 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.
Pablo Neruda
Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?
Pablo Neruda
