THE ABANDONED ... POEM OF PABLO NERUDA

THE ABANDONED ... POEM OF PABLO NERUDA

He did not ask for you any day, left
of the teeth of the dawn, of the born rattle,
He did not look for your shell, your skin, your continent
to wash your feet, your health, your dexterity
a day of indicated clusters?
He was not born to you alone,
for you alone, for you the bell
with its serious blue spring circuits:
the extent of the cries of the world, the development
of the cold germs that tremble on earth, the silence
of the ship at night, everything that lived full of eyelids
to faint and spill?
I ask you:
to nobody, to you, to who you are, to your wall, to the wind
if in the water of the river you see running
a magnanimous rose with singing and transparency,
or if in the unbridled spring attacked
by the first tremor of human strings
when he sings the barracks in the light of the moon
invading the shadow of the wild cherry tree,
you have not seen the guitar that was destined for you,
and the blind hip that wanted to kiss you?

I do not know: I only suffer from not knowing who you are
and having the syllable saved by your mouth,
to stop the highest days and bury them
in the forest, under the rough and wet leaves,
sometimes, sheltered under the cyclone, shaken
by the most frightened trees, by the chest
pierced from the deep lands, numb
for the last boreal nails, I'm
digging beyond human eyes,
beyond the fingernails of the tiger, what reaches my arms
to be distributed beyond the glacial days.

I'm looking for you, I'm looking for your effigy among the medals
that the gray sky shapes and abandons,
I do not know who you are but I owe you so much
that the earth is full of my bitter treasure.
What salt, what geography, what stone does not raise
his secret banner of what he guarded?
What leaf to fall was not for me a long book
of words by someone directed and loved?
Under what dark furniture I did not hide the sweetest
buried sighs looking for signs
and syllables that nobody belonged to?

You are, you are maybe, the man or the woman
or the tenderness that did not decipher anything.
Or maybe you did not press the dark sky
of beings, the pulsating star, maybe
When you stepped on, you did not know what the blind earth was
emanates the burning day of footsteps that seek you.

But we will be unarmed, tight
between the dumb gifts of the final earth.