Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age...poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from a winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
No, they were not voices, they were not words, nor silence
But from a street I was summoned
From the branches of night
Abruptly from others,
Among violent fires,
Or returning alone
There I was without a face
And it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth.
Has no way
With names
My eyes were blind
And something started in my soul
Fever or forgotten wings
And I make my own way
Deciphering
That fire
And I wrote the first faint line
Faint, without substance, pure
Nonsense
Pure wisdom
Of someone who knows nothing
And suddenly I saw
The heavens
Unfastened and open
Planets. Palpuitating plantations
Shadow perforated
Riddled
With arrows, fire and flowers
The winding night. The universe

And I, infinitesimal being
drunk with great starry
Void
Likeness, image of mystery
Felt myself a pure part of the abyss
I wheeled with the stars
My heart broke loose on the wind.


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