The Dictators Poem by Pablo Neruda

The Dictators

Rating: 3.1


An odor has remained among the sugarcane:
a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating
petal that brings nausea.
Between the coconut palms the graves are full
of ruined bones, of speechless death-rattles.
The delicate dictator is talking
with top hats, gold braid, and collars.
The tiny palace gleams like a watch
and the rapid laughs with gloves on
cross the corridors at times
and join the dead voices
and the blue mouths freshly buried.
The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant
whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth,
whose large blind leaves grow even without light.
Hatred has grown scale on scale,
blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,
with a snout full of ooze and silence

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Subhas Chandra Chakra 27 September 2017

The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth, whose large blind leaves grow even without light. Hatred has grown scale on scale, Great poem, thanks poet.

6 2 Reply
Dedrick Estiltaph 15 December 2009

I'm a fan as well. Nice work Pabloh.

11 13 Reply
John Tiong Chunghoo 13 July 2006

lovely this poem pablo. i can relate.

12 14 Reply
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