Thursday, January 26, 2012

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.

Pablo Neruda

Serenata  The night soaks itself  along the shore of the river  and in Lolita's breasts  the branches die of love.  The branche...