To everyone, to you, silent beings of the night who took my hand in the darkness, to you, lamps, of immortal light, star lines, bread of the living, secret brothers, to everyone, to you, I say: theres no thanks, nothing could fill the cups of purity, nothing can contain all of the sun in the flags of the invincible springtime like your quiet dignities. Only Im thinking maybe Ive been worthy of so much simplicity, of a flower so pure, maybe Im you, thats right, that essence, flower and song of earth, that natural kneading that knows where it comes from and where it belongs. Im no distant bell nor a crystal buried so deep you cant figure it out, Im just the people, hidden door, dark bread and when you receive me you receive yourself in your very self, in that guest beaten so many times and so many times reborn. To all and everyone, to all I dont know, wholl never hear this name, to those who live along our long rivers, at the foot of volcanoes, in the sulphuric copper shadow, to fishermen and peasants, to blue indians on the shore of lakes sparkling like glass, to the shoemaker who at this moment questions, nailing leather with ancient hands, to you, to whomever without knowing it has waited for me, I belong and recognize and sing. -Pablo Neruda
Posted on: Sun, 29 Jun 2014 07:44:45 +0000
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