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Whom can I ask what I came to make happen in this world? Why do I move without wanting to, why am I not able to sit still? Why do I go rolling without wheels, flying without wings or feathers, and why did I decide to migrate if my bones live in Chile?

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
Happens
Decide
Migrate
Stills
Wings
Chile
Still
Destiny
Feathers
Able
Move
Rolling
Live
Happen
Wheels
Without
Came
Wanting
Make
Asks
Flying
World
Moving
Bones

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When your hands leap towards mine, love, what do they bring me in flight?
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Love, how many roads to obtain a kiss.
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Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.
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sometimes i get up at dawn, and even my soul is wet.
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You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.
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What can I say without touching the earth with my hands?
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I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and its winter.
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I want to do for you what the spring does for the cherry trees
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What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?
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Tonight I can write the saddest lines...Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.
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We came by night to the Fortunate Isles, And lay like fish Under the net of our kisses.
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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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I stood on the balcony dark with mourning... hoping the earth would spread its wings in my uninhabited love.
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my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping but I shall go on living.
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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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Tomorrow we will only give them a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf which will fall on the earth like if it had been made by our lips like a kiss which falls from our invincible heights to show the fire and the tenderness of a true love.
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Love is the mystery of water and a star.
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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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I had no more alphabet than the journeying of the swallows, the pure and tiny water of the small, fiery bird that dances rising from the pollen.
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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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