SONG OF PABLO’S SON
Tonight, I can also write the saddest lines.
Words of goodbye. Of eternal longing.
The stars scintillate a dance that has long ended.
The winds hum a song long unsung.
My soul is an open book with no words.
No letters. Empty as an urn with lonely ashes.
My heart is a pen that can’t write any tale but sadness.
My body searches for the warmth of women
dear Pablo wrote about. Where are they?
Where is the beautiful nude?
Where is that beauty, simple as her hand when naked?
Where is the mermaid that swam to her dying?
Why is she not with me?
Why is she not sharing my loneliness?
Tonight, I can also write the saddest lines.
This is all. In the absolution of dusk,
I can hear Old Pablo babbling.
Same deceit and illusions.
My soul is not satisfied because I can not bring my love.
(*with my respects to my favorite poet Pablo Neruda)
Words of goodbye. Of eternal longing.
The stars scintillate a dance that has long ended.
The winds hum a song long unsung.
My soul is an open book with no words.
No letters. Empty as an urn with lonely ashes.
My heart is a pen that can’t write any tale but sadness.
My body searches for the warmth of women
dear Pablo wrote about. Where are they?
Where is the beautiful nude?
Where is that beauty, simple as her hand when naked?
Where is the mermaid that swam to her dying?
Why is she not with me?
Why is she not sharing my loneliness?
Tonight, I can also write the saddest lines.
This is all. In the absolution of dusk,
I can hear Old Pablo babbling.
Same deceit and illusions.
My soul is not satisfied because I can not bring my love.
(*with my respects to my favorite poet Pablo Neruda)
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