Sonnet XVII
by Pablo Neruda
Translation:
by Pablo Neruda
No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.
Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.
Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,
sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.
Translation:
I do not love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
Or the arrow of carnations that propagate fire.
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
Secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
But carries in itself the light of hidden flowers.
And thanks to your love, darkly in my body
Lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you simply, without complexities or pride.
I love you in this way because I know no other way of loving
But this, in which there is no I or you.
So intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
So intimate that when I fall asleep, it is your eyes that close.
No one has ever said it better.
image credit: dailynorthwestern
Or the arrow of carnations that propagate fire.
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
Secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
But carries in itself the light of hidden flowers.
And thanks to your love, darkly in my body
Lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you simply, without complexities or pride.
I love you in this way because I know no other way of loving
But this, in which there is no I or you.
So intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
So intimate that when I fall asleep, it is your eyes that close.
No one has ever said it better.
image credit: dailynorthwestern
No comments:
Post a Comment