What's wrong with you, with us,
what's happening to us?
Ah our love is a harsh cord
that binds us wounding us
and if we want
to leave our wound,
to separate,
it makes a new knot for us and condemns us
to drain our blood and burn together.
What's wrong with you? I look at you
and I find nothing in you but two eyes
like all eyes, a mouth
lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful,
a body just like those that have slipped
beneath my body without leaving any memory.
And how empty you went through the world
like a wheat-colored jar
without air, without sound, without substance!
I vainly sought in you
depth for my arms
that dig, without cease, beneath the earth:
beneath your skin, beneath your eyes,
nothing,
beneath your double breast scarcely
raised
a current of crystalline order
that does not know why it flows singing.
Why, why, why,
my love, why?
I like Pablo Neruda, but not this poem. I dislike how he puts down his love by saying what's wrong with her, and that he has kissed a thousand mouths more beautiful. It sounds more like love turned to hatred or coldness. Mean. Perhaps this poem is not personal?
pablo, love is a dinner course with a lot of why why why tasting bitter, sweet, and sour
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love Poetry but. I would to read them in his mother thoung Spanish. I do read a lot but I'm Latino and I learn that is something is writern in Spanish or English. since the begining you sould read them firs in their leangage.any way.. I'll keep reading: D Love Poetry