The Saddest Poem of All, Tonight

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

From “I can write”
by Pablo Neruda

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I did not meet her standing on the ground. No, instead we met over a thousand feet up, far above the city lights. Standing, and we were looking down.

As the clown in my circus of will and ambition, I have fought the fight of attrition.

I am not a poet, nor sorcerer by trade, but I have believed in love as apathy’s raid.

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If you want to see the saddest boy tonight, pull your mirror and see me, sitting across from thee.

If you have never seen love unfulfilled, stare across this table as though your trembling made you able.

I am not a poet, nor sorcerer by trade – but if you wish toward the sea’s winds to see the sun fade – from this life I am born. From this life, I am torn.

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I am Wednesday.

I am heartbroken.

I am me, unable to dress. Unable to eat.

The simplest of duties, stricken by fate in the circus of this life.

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On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

From “I can write”
By Pablo Neruda

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Thank you for giving me this. This is much and more and the score of my days.

For when I have been empty, broken and struck by the light of eve, you crawled from beneath me to leave.

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I want simple. And settle down. I want the sun to rise and fall over our heads. I want no pomp or pretense, instead I crave your intense,

Potential that only I can see.

Power that soars over me.

The drive and pistons burning free.

I am nothing more than thee.

(and I want nothing more for me)

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As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

From “I can write”
by Pablo Neruda

~ by The Provocateur on July 10, 2008.

9 Responses to “The Saddest Poem of All, Tonight”

  1. Jesus man, the winds are whipping up around you, no?

    As you said to me: love does not equal happiness.

    Be good to your self.

  2. Kisses

  3. Beautiful and touching.

    It left me breatless x

  4. “Love does not equal happiness.”
    Indeed.
    My sympathies.

  5. Truly, madly, heartbreaking…

  6. This can’t be the end…..

  7. Brilliant!

  8. I am so glad to have found you–beautiful.

  9. Tonight I Can Write…. my favorite poem.

    Thank you. You’ve done it justice.

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