A documentary of musings, self-discovery and constant successful mistakes in the life of a young, lost adult.
Monday, 2 November 2009
I give you my favourite poem by Pablo Neruda. I am not a big poems fan, but I do love Neruda.
I don't think there is anyone who cannot feel the love in this poem. So since I am sick because of love, I thought it would be appropriate.
We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.
I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.
Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.
I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.
Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?
The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.
Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.