Pablo Neruda


Three triangles of birds crossed Over the enormous ocean which extended In winter like a green beast. Everything just lay there, the silence, The unfolding gray, the heavy light Of space, some land now and then. Over everything there was passing A flight And another flight Of dark birds, winter bodies Trembling triangles Whose wings, Frantically flapping, hardly Can carry the gray cold, the desolate days From one place to another Along the coast of Chile. I am here while from one sky to another The trembling of the migratory birds Leaves me sunk inside myself, inside my own matter Like an everlasting well Dug by an immovable spiral. Now they have disappeared Black feathers of the sea Iron birds From steep slopes and rock piles Now at noon I am in front of emptiness. It's a winter Space stretched out And the sea has put Over its blue face A bitter mask.

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