Night on an Island

All night I have slept with you 
Next to the sea, on the island. 
Wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep, 
Between fire and water. 

Perhaps very late 
Our dreams joined 
At the top or at the bottom, 
Up above like branches moved by a common wind, 
Down below like red roots that touch. 

Perhaps your dream 
Drifted from mine 
And through the dark sea 
Was seeking me 
As before, 
When you did not yet exist, 
When without sighting you 
I sailed by your side, 
And your eyes sought 
What now – 
Bread, wine, love, and anger – 
I heap upon you 
Because you are the cup 
That was waiting for the gifts of my life. 

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. 

I have slept with you 
And on waking, your mouth, 
Come from your dream, 
Gave me the taste of earth, 
Of sea water, of seaweed, 
Of the depths of your life, 
And I received your kiss 
Moistened by the dawn 
As if it came to me 
From the sea that surrounds us. 

Absence

I have scarcely left you
When you go in me, crystalline,
Or trembling,
Or uneasy, wounded by me
Or overwhelmed with love, as
when your eyes
Close upon the gift of life
That without cease I give you.

My love,
We have found each other
Thirsty and we have
Drunk up all the water and the
Blood,
We found each other
Hungry
And we bit each other
As fire bites,
Leaving wounds in us.

But wait for me,
Keep for me your sweetness.
I will give you too
A rose. 

Pablo Neruda

Estas Flores

Mujer de corazon quemado,
que caminas junto a mi en esta jornada,
que tu mano reciba las flores de este ramo,
unas rojas flores, lo siento si no son flores pobres
de esta tierra dura tierra dura,
pero recibelas de mis manos como si hubieran sido halladas en la mina mas honda,
como si hubieran crecido entre la milpa
o entre el frijol, estas flores y estas frutas hijas del agua
y del trabajo de la gente del campo
estas flores d perfume y espinas
de petalos profundos.

supe al mirarlas que son para Ti
vienen de mi pobreza
y de mi fortaleza florecida, el ramo
de la ternura y mis ganas de escucharte.

Flores para que esten en mi lugar
al lado de la cama, espero que una
de estas noches, el
aroma de estas flores y el tuyo
me guien para regresar desde lejos.

Siempre

Antes de ti
no tengo celos.

Ven con un hombre
a la espalda,
ven con cien hombres en tu cabellera,
ven con mil hombres entre tu pecho y tus
pies,
ven con un rio
lleno de ahogados
que encuentra el mar furioso,
la espuma eterna, el tiempo.

Traelos todos
adonde yo te espero:
siempre estaremos solos,
siempre estaremos tu y yo
solos sobre la tierra
para comenzar la vida.

Your Feet

When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me. 

Pablo Neruda

Your Laughter

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die. 

Pablo Neruda

The Queen

I  have named you queen.
There are taller than you, taller.
There are purer than you, purer.
There are lovelier than you, lovelier.
But you are the queen.

When you go through the streets
No one recognizes you.
No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks
At the carpet of red gold
That you tread as you pass,
The nonexistent carpet.

And when you appear
All the rivers sound
In my body, bells
Shake the sky,
And a hymn fills the world.

Only you and I,
Only you and I, my love,
Listen to me.

Such is the lot of women, to carry, to bear, to watch, and to loose.

But there is one thing that has power completely, and that is love. Because when a man loves, he seeks no power, and therefore he has power. I see only one hope for our country, and that is when white men and black men, desiring neither power nor money, but desiring only the good of their country, come together and work for it.

Cry the beloved country

- it suited the white man to break the tribe, he continued gravely. But it has not suited him to build something in place of what is broken. I have pondered this for many hours, and I must speak it, for it is true to me. They are not all so. There are some white men who give their lives to build up what is broken.

Cry the beloved country

Que sea un poema, una pintura, un flor pero que dejes algo en la vida para que el mundo sea mejor que cuando llegamos.

Matul.

“I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination...I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons will live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal for which I hope to live for and to see realized. But my lord, if it needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die.”

Mandela