Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, 'The night is shattered and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
Tonight I write the saddest psalm.
Write, for example, "On this broken night, the blue stars shiver in the distance." ”
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
The night wind swirled and sang in the sky.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
I've loved her, and sometimes, she's loved me.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
Countless nights like this, I hugged her in my arms.
Under the endless sky, I offer thousands of kisses.
She loved me, and sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
She loved me, and sometimes, I loved her too.
Can't help but fall in love with her eyes and quietly flow.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
Just think of me no longer having her, just feel that she no longer belongs to me.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
Just hear the vastness of the night, and be more vast because of the loss of her.
The verse slips down the soul like a dewdrop falling into the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
My love can't keep her, so what?
The night shattered into pieces, and she was far away.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
That's it. Someone sang in the distance. In the distance.
But my soul was not willing to let her go.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
My eyes searched for her, as if to pull her in front of me.
My heart was looking for him while she had gone far.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
The same night, bleaching the same woods.
Today is no longer the same as we used to be.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
I no longer loved her, I was absolutely certain, but how firm my love had been.
My voice struggled to drift away with the wind and drifted to her ears.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
Someone else's. She's going to be someone else's. Like the thousands of kisses I've ever given.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her bottomless eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short; forgetting is so long.
I don't love her anymore, I'm pretty sure, but maybe I still love her.
Love is short-lived, and it is difficult to forget each other.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Because, on many of these nights, I embraced her.
But my soul was not willing to let her go.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Though she made me endure this last torment,
And I will send her this last psalm.
Author Pablo Neruda
The author, Pablo Neruda, a famous chilean poet and diplomat, is one of the greatest poets in the 20th century.
He began publishing poetry at the age of 13, publishing his first collection of poems, Dusk, in 1923, and his famous work Twenty Love Poems and a Desperate Song in 1924, winning the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1971.
Neruda's life had two themes, one was politics and the other was love. The poem is derived from his most famous collection of poems, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. In this collection of poems, Neruda is praising not only love, but also sex, because it is closer to the essence of a man's relationship with a woman.
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