Pablo Neruda
They've guessed
our secret,
you know.
They see me,
they see us,
and nothing
has been said--
neither your eyes
nor your voice,
neither your hair
nor your love
have said a word--
but suddenly
they know,
they know without
even knowing
they know.
I wave goodbye and
set off
in another direction,
and they know
you're waiting for me.
JoyfullyI live
and sing
and dream,
sureof myself.
They are aware,
somehow,
that you are my joy.
They see
through my heavy
trousers
the keys
to your door,
the keys
to writing paper, to moonlight
among jasmines,
to the song that sings
in the waterfall.
And you without
opening your mouth
speaking,
you crystal-clear
closing your eyes
or nursing
a red dove
nestled in black leaves,
the flightof a hidden heart
and then
a syllable,
a drop
from heaven,
in one's ear
the soft
sound of shade and
pollen,
and everybody
knows it,
my love:it makes the rounds
of men
in bookstores
and women
as well,
and close bythe marketplace,
whirling,
the ring
of our
secret
secret
love.
Let it
go
rolling
through the streets,
let it take
portraits
and walls by surprise,
let it come and go
and pop up
with fresh
greens in the market.
It has
soil
and roots
and a poppy
on top,
your mouth
a poppy.
Our
entire secret,
our key,o
ur hidden
word,
our shadow or
whisper,
comments
someone
made
when we weren't around--
it's just a poppy,
a poppy.
Love
love
love--
O secret flower,
invisible
flame,
bright scar
from the burning
brand!
No comments:
Post a Comment