Saturday, February 14, 2004

Sonnet 17
Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries
within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving

than this, where there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep, it is your eyes that close.

Mina at 12:46 PM