| "The Earth" By Pablo Neruda The green earth has yielded to everything yellow, gold, harvests, farms, leaves, grain, but when autumn rises with its spacious banner it is you that I see, for me it is your hair that separates the tassels. I see the monuments of ancient broken stone, but if I touch the stone scar your body responds to me, my fingers recognize suddenly, shivering, your warm sweetness. I pass among the heroes recently decorated by the earth and the dust and behind them, silent, with your tiny steps, is it you or not you? Yesterday, when they pulled up by the roots, to have a look at it, the old dwarf tree, I saw you come out looking at me from the tortured and thirsty roots. And when sleep comes to stretch me out and take me to my own silence there is a great white wind that destroys my sleep and from it fall leaves, they fall like knives upon me, draining me of blood. And each wound has the shape of your mouth. |