Who has lied? The foot of the lily
broken, unfathomable, darkened, replete
with wounds and dark splendor!
Everything, the norm of wave upon wave upon wave,
the imprecise amber tomb
and the rugged spots of the wheat stalk!
I melted my chest in this, I listened to
the mournful salt, by night
I went planting my roots:
I came upon the bitterness of the earth:
It was all for my night or the lightning strike:
quota of secret wax in my head
and the spilling out of ashes in my footsteps.
And for whom did I search this cold pulse
but for death?
And what instrument did I lose in the abandoned
darkness, where no one hears me?
No,
it was already time, flee,
shadows of blood,
icy star, recede to the step of human steps
and bid goodbye to my feet black shadow!
Of men like me I’ve got the same wounded hand,
I sustain the same red cup
and the same enraged amazement:
one day
beating with human dreams a savage
steed arrived
at my devouring night
so that I could join my wolf steps
with those of man.
And so, reunited,
stubbornly central, I don’t look for asylum
in the hollows of sobbing: I display
the bee’s trunk: radiant bread
for the man’s child: in the mystery the blue
prepares itself
for watching over a wheat stalk leagues from blood.
Where is your place in the rose?
Where is your starry eyelid?
Have you forgotten those sweaty fingers
that go mad reaching for the sand?
Peace for you, shadowed sun,
peace for you, forehead blind,
there’s a burning space for you along the way,
there are rocks without mystery in the roads,
there are silences of jail like an inflamed star,
naked, out of control, thinking of hell.
Together against the wailing!
It’s the high hour
for earth and perfume, look at this face
just escaped from the awful salt,
look at this bitter mouth that smiles,
look at this new heart who salutes you
with its extravagant flower, golden and determined.
Pablo Neruda
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