By Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved
in secret, between shadow and soul
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love, a certain solid fragrance
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where
I love you straightforwardly, without complexity or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
Than this: where "I" does not exist nor you
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep
No comments:
Post a Comment