You are reading Neruda
At 6 o’clock in the morning
After sleepless night
In somebody else’s apartment
In which you already feel at home
In the city you have been calling your own
For a long time
Though you know it is not
Neruda, which you don’t even like to read
(And you refuse to admit
That today, you even
Like some of his poems)
And you know you could write
The most beautiful verses this morning
The greatest love poems of all
And the sadest ones, too
Only to defy Neruda
But you are wondering if it’s worth doing
Without knowing
If you’ll ever get the chance to read them
To Her
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem