Sonnet Xxv Poem by Pablo Neruda

Sonnet Xxv

Rating: 3.2

Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among
Nothing mattered or had a name:
The world was made of air, which waited.

I knew rooms full of ashes,
Tunnels where the moon lived,
Rough warehouses that growled 'get lost',
Questions that insisted in the sand.

Everything was empty, dead, mute,
Fallen abandoned, and decayed:
Inconceivably alien, it all

Belonged to someone else - to no one:
Till your beauty and your poverty
Filled the autumn plentiful with gifts.

John Tiong Chunghoo 04 July 2006

your genius shines through in this poem. you use so many apt and effective examples to let us feel your pain and joy for a love.;

3 6 Reply
Mary Skarpathiotaki 20 December 2017

Ήξερα δωμάτια γεμάτα στάχτες, Σήραγγες όπου ζούσε το φεγγάρι, Ανάκατες αποθήκες που γκρίνιαζαν «χάσου», Ερωτήσεις που επέμεναν στην άμμο. Όλα ήταν άδεια, νεκρα, σιωπηλα, Ο νεκρός εγκαταλείφθηκε και κατέρρευσε: απροσδόκητα ξένα όλα Ανήκαν σε κάποιον άλλο - σε κανέναν: Μέχρι η ομορφιά σου και η φτώχεια σου Να γεμίσουν το φθινόπωρο με δώρα. Pablo Neruda Μτφρ.Μ.Σκαρπαθιωτάκη

2 0 Reply
Mary Skarpathiotaki 20 December 2017

Προτού σας αγαπήσω, η αγάπη, δεν ήταν δική μου: Κοιτούσα μέσα στους δρόμους, μεταξύ Αντικείμενων: Τίποτα δεν είχε σημασία ή είχε όνομα: Ο κόσμος ήταν φτιαγμένος από αέρα, που περίμενε.

1 0 Reply
Mary Skarpathiotaki 20 December 2017

excellent poem i love it i vote 10+++Thank a lot! !

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M Asim Nehal 11 February 2016

Superb imagery and the status of man in love loosing self.

2 2 Reply
Souren Mondal 14 February 2016

I agree with you Asim.. It is a beautiful poem..

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Fabrizio Frosini 24 November 2015

Soneto XXV... em português... Antes de amar-te, amor, nada era meu: vacilei pelas ruas e as coisas: nada contava nem tinha nome: o mundo era do ar que esperava. E conheci salões cinzentos, túneis habitados pela lua, hangares cruéis que se despediam, perguntas que insistiam na areia. Tudo estava vazio, morto e mudo, caído, abandonado e decaído, tudo era inalienavelmente alheio, tudo era dos outros e de ninguém, até que tua beleza e tua pobreza de dádivas encheram o outono.

11 1 Reply
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