Pablo Neruda

(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973 / Parral / Chile)

Finale - Poem by Pablo Neruda

Matilde, years or days
sleeping, feverish,
here or there,
gazing off,
twisting my spine,
bleeding true blood,
perhaps I awaken
or am lost, sleeping:
hospital beds, foreign windows,
white uniforms of the silent walkers,
the clumsiness of feet.

And then, these journeys
and my sea of renewal:
your head on the pillow,
your hands floating
in the light, in my light,
over my earth.

It was beautiful to live
when you lived!

The world is bluer and of the earth
at night, when I sleep
enormous, within your small hands


Comments about Finale by Pablo Neruda

  • Rookie - 181 Points Brian Jani (4/27/2014 2:54:00 AM)

    Awesome I like this poem, check mine out  (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, March 22, 2010



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