What I fear is the past, and this corrupts the present which destroys the future. Self destruction.
Once we were one
The Confessions Cycle
Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.
Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands; how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks, the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bond to my vague memory of you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet i seem to glimpse you in every window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting stars, falling objects.
Pablo Neruda
Pablo Neruda
One step closer to her... is one step closer to nowhere
The Confessions Cycle
You left me, sweet, two legacies,A legacy of loveA Heavenly Father would content,Had He the offer of;You left me boundaries of painCapacious as the sea,Between eternity and time,Your consciousness and me.You left me, sweet, two legacies,A legacy of loveA Heavenly Father would content,Had He the offer of;You left me boundaries of painCapacious as the sea,Between eternity and time,Your consciousness and me.
Emily Dickinson
Trapped in a Riddle
The Confessions Cycle
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
Write for example: ‘The night is fractured
and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’
The night wind turns in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
I loved her, sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like these I held her in my arms.
I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
To think I don’t have her, to feel I have lost her.
Hear the vast night, vaster without her.
Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass.
What does it matter that I couldn’t keep her.
The night is fractured and she is not with me.
That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off,
my soul is not content to have lost her.
As though to reach her, my sight looks for her.
My heart looks for her: she is not with me
The same night whitens, in the same branches.
We, from that time, we are not the same.
I don’t love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her.
Another’s kisses on her, like my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes.
I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her.
Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.
Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms,
my soul is not content to have lost her.
Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer,
and these are the last lines I will write for her.
I can write the saddest lines tonight
XX From: Veinte poemas de amor
Pablo Neruda
Write for example: ‘The night is fractured
and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’
The night wind turns in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
I loved her, sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like these I held her in my arms.
I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
To think I don’t have her, to feel I have lost her.
Hear the vast night, vaster without her.
Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass.
What does it matter that I couldn’t keep her.
The night is fractured and she is not with me.
That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off,
my soul is not content to have lost her.
As though to reach her, my sight looks for her.
My heart looks for her: she is not with me
The same night whitens, in the same branches.
We, from that time, we are not the same.
I don’t love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her.
Another’s kisses on her, like my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes.
I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her.
Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.
Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms,
my soul is not content to have lost her.
Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer,
and these are the last lines I will write for her.
I can write the saddest lines tonight
XX From: Veinte poemas de amor
Pablo Neruda
Spring Mist
The Confessions Cycle
I want you to know one thing.You know how this is:If I look at the crystal moon,at the red branchof the slow autumn at my window,if I touch near the fire the impalpable ashor the wrinkled body of the log,everything carries me to you,as if everything that exists,aromas, light, metals,were little boats that sailtowards those isles of yoursthat wait for me.Well now,if little by little you stop loving me,I shall stop loving you little by little.If suddenlyyou forget medo not look for me,for I shall already have forgotten you.If you think it long and madthe wind of banners,that passes through my life,and you decideto leave me at the shoreof the heart where I have rootsrememberthat on that day, at that hour,I shall lift my armsand my roots will set offto seek another land.But if each day, each hour,you feel you are destined for mewith implacable sweetness,if each day a flowerclimbs up to your lips to seek me,ah my love, ah my own,in me all that fire is repeated,in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,my love feeds on your love, beloved,and as long as you live it will be in your armswithout leaving mine.
Margaret Atwood
I want you to know one thing.You know how this is:If I look at the crystal moon,at the red branchof the slow autumn at my window,if I touch near the fire the impalpable ashor the wrinkled body of the log,everything carries me to you,as if everything that exists,aromas, light, metals,were little boats that sailtowards those isles of yoursthat wait for me.Well now,if little by little you stop loving me,I shall stop loving you little by little.If suddenlyyou forget medo not look for me,for I shall already have forgotten you.If you think it long and madthe wind of banners,that passes through my life,and you decideto leave me at the shoreof the heart where I have rootsrememberthat on that day, at that hour,I shall lift my armsand my roots will set offto seek another land.But if each day, each hour,you feel you are destined for mewith implacable sweetness,if each day a flowerclimbs up to your lips to seek me,ah my love, ah my own,in me all that fire is repeated,in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,my love feeds on your love, beloved,and as long as you live it will be in your armswithout leaving mine.
Margaret Atwood
The Navel
The Confessions Cycle
Leave me a place underground, a labyrinth,where I can go, when I wish to turn,without eyes, without touch,in the void, to dumb stone,or the finger of shadow.I know that you cannot, no one, no thingcan deliver up that place, or that path,but what can I do with my pitiful passions,if they are no use, on the surfaceof everyday life,if I cannot look to survive,except by dying, going beyond, enteringinto the state, metallic and slumbering,of primeval flame?Leave me a place underground
XXVI From: Las Piedras del Cielo
Pablo Neruda
Leave me a place underground, a labyrinth,where I can go, when I wish to turn,without eyes, without touch,in the void, to dumb stone,or the finger of shadow.I know that you cannot, no one, no thingcan deliver up that place, or that path,but what can I do with my pitiful passions,if they are no use, on the surfaceof everyday life,if I cannot look to survive,except by dying, going beyond, enteringinto the state, metallic and slumbering,of primeval flame?Leave me a place underground
XXVI From: Las Piedras del Cielo
Pablo Neruda
The Soul's Corner Stone
The Confessions Cycle
I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
I love you only because it's you the one that I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you,
Bent to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.
In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.
Pablo Neruda
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
I love you only because it's you the one that I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you,
Bent to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.
In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.
Pablo Neruda
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