April is winding down, which means this is the last of the Friday Love Poems. This was a very sad moment, until I found the perfect poem and all the sadness went away and I was just happy to share this with you all!

Today’s selection is from Pablo Neruda, the king of love poetry. This comes from his collection, One Hundred Love Sonnets. Remember that Neruda wrote in his native tongue: spanish. So this is a translated version, but the beauty of the poem triumphs over any language gaps. If you like this, you might want to check out his collection, 20 Love Poems and a Song of Despair, for more beautiful love poems.  

Enjoy! 

 

“One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII”

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

 

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.

 

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
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