Alliance (Sonata)
Pablo Neruda / Alianza / Sonata
Of dusty gazes fallen down to the soil
or leaves without sound and entombing.
Of metals without light, with the void,
with the absence of the dead day of coup.
At the top of the hands the dazzle of butterflies,
the start of butterflies whose light has no end.
You were keeping the trail of light, of broken beings
that the sun abandoned, getting dark, throws to the churches.
Stained with glances, with the aim of bees,
your material of unexpected flame fleeing
coming before and after the day and to your family of gold.
The days stalked they cross the secrecy
but fall inside of your voice of light.
Oh proprietress of love, on your rest
I founded my dream, my silent attitude.
With your body of shy number, extended suddenly
until quantities that define the earth,
behind the fight of the white days of space
and chills of slow deaths and withered stimuli,
I feel burn your lap and move your kisses
making fresh swallows in my dream.
Sometimes the fate of your tears amounts
as the age up to my forehead, there
they are striking the waves, being destroyed of death:
its’ movement is damp, depressed, final.
Pablo Neruda /Residencia en la tierra (1925-1932).
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or leaves without sound and entombing.
Of metals without light, with the void,
with the absence of the dead day of coup.
At the top of the hands the dazzle of butterflies,
the start of butterflies whose light has no end.
You were keeping the trail of light, of broken beings
that the sun abandoned, getting dark, throws to the churches.
Stained with glances, with the aim of bees,
your material of unexpected flame fleeing
coming before and after the day and to your family of gold.
The days stalked they cross the secrecy
but fall inside of your voice of light.
Oh proprietress of love, on your rest
I founded my dream, my silent attitude.
With your body of shy number, extended suddenly
until quantities that define the earth,
behind the fight of the white days of space
and chills of slow deaths and withered stimuli,
I feel burn your lap and move your kisses
making fresh swallows in my dream.
Sometimes the fate of your tears amounts
as the age up to my forehead, there
they are striking the waves, being destroyed of death:
its’ movement is damp, depressed, final.
Pablo Neruda /Residencia en la tierra (1925-1932).
Pablo Neruda
Residencia on Earth (1925-1931)
Residencia on Earth (1925-1931)
Residence I, Parte I
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