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, Sonnet XVII
(Translated by Stephen Tapscott)
Sheer genius. No?
4 comments:
Yes. Sheer.
nice! u commented on a post in my blog.
here's the question back at u -
who ARE u? :)
hmmm..I sense a series of correspondence each more evasive than the other, or mebbe..none at all!
A tiny hint, we've a good friend in common.
Thank u..had read ur Chronicles sometime back and rightly liked it...unfortunately I need to be invited to access the blog.
Yes, I'd made it private for certain good and bad reasons.
Though you can write to me at nagarbhavi@gmail.com with your address for an invite. I do not discriminate. I love my readers. :
)
Post a Comment