Paul Eluard

(14 December 1895 – 18 November 1952 / Saint Denis / Paris)

The Absence


I speak to you across cities
I speak to you across plains

My mouth is upon your pillow

Both faces of the walls come meeting
My voice discovering you

I speak to you of eternity

O cities memories of cities
Cities wrapped in our desires
Cities come early cities come lately
Cities strong and cities secret
Plundered of their master's builders
All their thinkers all their ghosts

Fields pattern of emerald
Bright living surviving
The harvest of the sky over our earth
Feeds my voice I dream and weep
I laugh and dream among the flames
Among the clusters of the sun

And over my body your body spreads
The sheet of it's bright mirror.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

Do you like this poem?
1 person liked.
2 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: mirror, dream, sky, sun, city, memory

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Absence by Paul Eluard )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 1 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Neophytic Gay-Blade, Richard Thripp
  2. Rebel, Nassy Fesharaki
  3. Your Organ Donor Card, Richard Thripp
  4. Floating Feathers, Ronald Chapman
  5. I LOOK FOR NEW FACES ابحث عن وجوه جديدة, MOHAMMAD SKATI
  6. First Date (Secret Message Poem), Ronald Chapman
  7. Love Forever, Sandra Feldman
  8. Feeling Love, Ronald Chapman
  9. Hussein, Nassy Fesharaki
  10. Farmer, Ronald Chapman

Poem of the Day

poet Sir Walter Scott

The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day;
Then gather, gather, gather Grigalach!
Gather, gather, gather Grigalach!

...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]