And it was at that age ... Poetry arrivedin search of me. I don't know, I don't know whereit came from, from winter or a river.I don't know how or when,no they were not voices, they were notwords, nor silence,but from a street I was summoned,from the branches of night,abruptly from the others,among violent firesor returning alone,there I was without a faceand it touched me.Pablo neruda
There are cemeteries that are lonely,graves full of bones that do not make a sound,the heart moving through a tunnel,in it darkness, darkness, darkness,like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,as though we were drowning inside our hearts,as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.And there are corpses,feet made of cold and sticky clay,death is inside the bones,like a barking where there are no dogs,coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,growing in the damp air like tears of rain.Pablo Neruda
Laugh at the night,at the day, at the moon,laugh at the twistedstreets of the island,laugh at this clumsyboy who loves you,but when I openmy eyes and close them,when my steps go,when my steps return,deny me bread, air,light, spring,but never your laughterfor I would die.Pablo Neruda
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because -because - I don't know how to say it: a day is longand I will be waiting for you, as in an empty stationwhen the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.Don't leave me, even for an hour, becausethen the little drops of anguish will all run together,the smoke that roams looking for a home will driftinto me, choking my lost heart.Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,because in that moment you'll have gone so farI'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?Pablo Neruda
You know how this is:if I lookat the crystal moon, at the red branchof the slow autumn at my window,if I touchnear the firethe impalpable ashor the wrinkled body of the log,everything carries me to you,as if everything that exists,aromas, light, metals,were little boatsthat sailtoward those isles of yours that wait for me.Well, now,if little by little you stop loving meI shall stop loving you little by little.If suddenlyyou forget medo not look for me,for I shall already have forgotten you.Pablo neruda
Lying, thinkingLast nightHow to find my soul a homeWhere water is not thirstyAnd bread loaf is not stoneI came up with one thingAnd I don't believe I'm wrongThat nobody,But nobodyCan make it out here alone.Alone, all aloneNobody, but nobodyCan make it out here alone.There are some millionairesWith money they can't useTheir wives run round like bansheesTheir children sing the bluesThey've got expensive doctorsTo cure their hearts of stone.But nobodyNo, nobodyCan make it out here alone...............................Maya Angelou
It was a long time ago.I have almost forgotten my dream.But it was there then,In front of me,Bright like a sun—My dream.And then the wall rose,Rose slowly,Slowly,Between me and my dream.Rose until it touched the sky—The wall.Shadow.I am black.I lie down in the shadow.No longer the light of my dream before me,Above me.Only the thick wall.Only the shadow.My hands!My dark hands!Break through the wall!Find my dream!Help me to shatter this darkness,To smash this night,To break this shadowInto a thousand lights of sun,Into a thousand whirling dreamsOf sun!Langston Hughes
You've seen all moments
Start sharing your language learning journey and connect with partners worldwide.
