Ode to Thanks by Pablo Neruda Thanks to the word that says thanks! Thanks to thanks, word that melts iron and snow! The world is a threatening place until thanks makes the rounds from one pair of lips to another, soft as a bright feather and sweet as a petal of sugar, filling the mouth with its sound or else a mumbled whisper. Life becomes human again: it’s no longer an open window. A bit of brightness strikes into the forest, and we can sing again beneath the leaves. Thanks, you’re the medicine we take to save us from the bite of scorn. Your light brightens the altar of harshness. Or maybe a tapestry known to far distant peoples. Travelers fan out into the wilds, and in the jungle of strangers, merci rings out while the hustling train changes countries, sweeping away borders, then spasibo clinging to pointy volcanoes, to fire and freezing cold, or danke, yes! and gracias, and the world turns into a table: a single word has wiped it clean, plates and glasses gleam, silverware tinkles, and the tablecloth is as broad as a plain. Thank you, thanks, for going out and returning, for rising up and settling down. We know, thanks, that you don’t fill every space- you’re only a word- but where your little petal appears the daggers of pride take cover, and there’s a penny’s worth of smiles.
Posted on: Fri, 28 Nov 2014 15:22:52 +0000
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