Pablo Neruda

I've never been one for poetry. Ever. But something changed.

Just this past year I've come across a few poems that are just so lovely I want to put them on my bedside table and read them every day.

A few weeks back I literally stumbled across Pablo Neruda in a magazine I was reading - they printed maybe 5 lines from one of his poems and with just that tease I bought my first book of poetry. The Poetry of Pablo Neruda. I'm just skimming through but some of his writing takes my breath away.

Your Hands

When your hands go out,
love, toward mine,
what do they bring me flying?
Why did they stop
at my mouth, suddenly,
why do I recognize them
as if then, before,
I had touched them,
as if before they existed
they had passed over
my forehead, my waist?

Their softness came
flying over time,
over the sea, over the smoke,
over the spring,
and when you placed
your hands on my chest,
I recognized those golden
dove wings,
I recognized that clay
and that color of wheat.

All the years of my life
I walked around looking for them.
I went up the stairs,
I crossed the roads,
trains carried me,
waters brought me,
and in the skin of the grapes
I thought I touched you.
The wood suddenly
brought me your touch,
the almond announced to me
your secret softness,
until your hands
closed on my chest
and there like two wings
they ended their journey.

Pablo Neruda.

n.