Forget politics for a moment. Let’s lighten it up for a brief moment…
The low slant of early evening sunbeams twinkle through the imagined galaxies of dust motes dancing in the air of my bedroom. Why, I do not know, this brings to mind this sonnet written by Pablo Neruda. A poem of such quiet,unfettered passion and naked emotion that to this day, It prompts a swell of emotion within, everytime I read it.
Ah, to be loved like this…
I don ’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
—Translated and © Mark Eisner 2004, from City Lights’ The Essential Neruda