Monday, June 29, 2009


And it was at that age…Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where
it came from, from winter or river,
I don’t know how or when
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

from "Poetry" by Pablo Neruda

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