Pablo Neruda Quotes About Moon
-
Sonnet XXV Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own: I wavered through the streets, among Objects: Nothing mattered or had a name: The world was made of air, which waited. I knew rooms full of ashes, Tunnels where the moon lived, Rough warehouses that growled 'get lost', Questions that insisted in the sand. Everything was empty, dead, mute, Fallen abandoned, and decayed: Inconceivably alien, it all Belonged to someone else - to no one: Till your beauty and your poverty Filled the autumn plentiful with gifts.
→ -
You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
→ -
Under your skin the moon is alive.
→ -
As if you were on fire from within. The moon lives in the lining of your skin.
→ -
It is not so much light that falls over the world extended by your body its suffocating snow, as brightness, pouring itself out of you, as if you were burning inside. Under your skin the moon is alive.
→ -
Eating alone is a disappointment. But not eating matter more, is hollow and green, has thorns like a chain of fish hooks, trailing from the heart, clawing at your insides. Hunger feels like pincers, like the bite of crabs; it burns, burns, and has no fur. Let us sit down soon to eat with all those who haven't eaten; let us spread great tablecloths, put salt in lakes of the world, set up planetary bakeries, tables with strawberries in snow, and a plate like the moon itself from which we can all eat. For now I ask no more than the justice of eating.
→ -
And that's why i have to go back to so many places there to find myself and constantly examine myself with no witness but the moon and then whistle with joy, ambling over rocks and clods of earth, with no task but to live, with no family but the road.
→ -
Here I came to the very edge where nothing at all needs saying, everything is absorbed through weather and the sea, and the moon swam back, its rays all silvered, and time and again the darkness would be broken by the crash of a wave, and every day on the balcony of the sea, wings open, fire is born, and everything is blue again like morning.
→
Related Authors
-
Robert Frost Poet -
Isabel Allende Writer -
Pablo Picasso Painter -
Gabriel Garcia Marquez Novelist -
Edgar Allan Poe Author -
Mario Benedetti Journalist -
Gabriela Mistral Poet -
William Wordsworth Poet -
Julio Cortazar Novelist -
Octavio Paz Poet -
Jorge Luis Borges Writer -
Augusto Pinochet Former President of Chile -
Mario Vargas Llosa Writer -
Ruben Dario Poet -
Langston Hughes Poet -
Nicanor Parra Poet -
Amado Nervo Poet -
Walt Whitman Poet -
-
Nicolas Guillen Poet