Sonnet XVII

April 2, 2008 at 2:45 pm 1 comment

I first posted this a couple years ago. I was sent this again a few days ago, and it’s still as beautiful as ever 🙂

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda

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Race over Karachi

1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. nikk  |  April 13, 2008 at 7:20 am

    agreed.. absolutely beautiful.

    though, cant remember where i read it before either.. 🙂

    Reply

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