| I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Pablo Neruda |
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2 comments:
I'd never heard of Naruda until he was mentioned in La Vie Boheme [ Rent ] so I looked him up - along with all the other rent references that I wasn't familiar with.
His language is so evocative and subtle. Love him.
Just beautiful, thanks for sharing it with us.
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