Pablo Neruda

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

From The Book Of Questions - Poem by Pablo Neruda


Tell me, is the rose naked
or is that her only dress?

Why do trees conceal
the splendor of their roots?

Who hears the regrets
of the thieving automobile?

Is there anything in the world sadder
than a train standing in the rain?

Comments about From The Book Of Questions by Pablo Neruda

  • Gold Star - 30,378 Points * Sunprincess * (7/11/2014 11:31:00 PM) many little time..... (Report) Reply

    3 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Rookie - 184 Points Brian Jani (4/27/2014 4:57:00 AM)

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

  • Rookie Sushovan Basu (5/9/2013 2:34:00 AM)

    For Pablo,
    my share


    Dry and yellow
    the gramophone tongue
    I slide into

    a flood of rubble
    blue and snoring
    the clouds ask

    for a little sunshine
    in a coffee full of holes
    punched by sugar

    written in long lost
    sentences of rain
    quivering in sleep

    I endorse a
    room less wall full
    of stigma written

    selling a mountain
    to an elevator

    full of roses
    fresh from branches
    slaying another epic
    Nikhil Nath (Report) Reply

  • Gold Star - 8,547 Points Is It Poetry (12/15/2008 6:09:00 PM)

    LOL..Absolutely funny to the bone of the chin...: >) it( (Report) Reply

  • Bronze Star - 2,725 Points john tiong chunghoo (7/1/2006 9:42:00 AM)

    my share;

    tell me
    is the world
    ooking at me
    through the lenses
    in my eyes
    or am i looking
    at the world
    through his lenses
    is he controlling me
    or the other way round
    do i have more control
    over this body or him
    what if the world
    suddenly let go of its pull (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Dr. Afaq Qureshi (11/8/2005 2:06:00 AM)

    Neruda, the nobel prize winner poet holds a unspoken and written magic in his verse. Independent mostly of the formalities of meter and rhyme, he is equally strong and writes with passion which is not seen in most of his contemporaries. This particular poem has all those mystical elements which make Neruda's poems seem to arise from within our hearts, conveying our own feelings of love, hatred and in general the absurdity of life. Neruda doesn't stop at just the description of absudity, he takes a step forward, challenges its boundaries and questions its existence. Human soul and collective conscience of so many centuries evolved into fine arts and this poetry is one fine example of these arts. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: rose, rain, world, tree

Poem Submitted: Monday, January 20, 2003

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