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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476049" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I'm Explaining a Few Things</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?<br>and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?<br>and the rain repeatedly spattering<br>its words and drilling them full<br>of apertures and birds?<br>I'll tell you all the news.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I lived in a suburb,<br>a suburb of Madrid, with bells,<br>and clocks, and trees.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From there you could look out<br>over Castille's dry face:<br>a leather ocean.<br>My house was called<br>the house of flowers, because in every cranny<br>geraniums burst: it was<br>a good-looking house<br>with its dogs and children.<br>Remember, Raul?<br>Eh, Rafel? Federico, do you remember<br>from under the ground<br>my balconies on which<br>the light of June drowned flowers in your mouth?<br>Brother, my brother!<br>Everything<br>loud with big voices, the salt of merchandises,<br>pile-ups of palpitating bread,<br>the stalls of my suburb of Arguelles with its statue<br>like a drained inkwell in a swirl of hake:<br>oil flowed into spoons,<br>a deep baying<br>of feet and hands swelled in the streets,<br>metres, litres, the sharp<br>measure of life,<br>stacked-up fish,<br>the texture of roofs with a cold sun in which<br>the weather vane falters,<br>the fine, frenzied ivory of potatoes,<br>wave on wave of tomatoes rolling down the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And one morning all that was burning,<br>one morning the bonfires<br>leapt out of the earth<br>devouring human beings --<br>and from then on fire,<br>gunpowder from then on,<br>and from then on blood.<br>Bandits with planes and Moors,<br>bandits with finger-rings and duchesses,<br>bandits with black friars spattering blessings<br>came through the sky to kill children<br>and the blood of children ran through the streets<br>without fuss, like children's blood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Jackals that the jackals would despise,<br>stones that the dry thistle would bite on and spit out,<br>vipers that the vipers would abominate!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Face to face with you I have seen the blood<br>of Spain tower like a tide<br>to drown you in one wave<br>of pride and knives!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Treacherous<br>generals:<br>see my dead house,<br>look at broken Spain :<br>from every house burning metal flows<br>instead of flowers,<br>from every socket of Spain<br>Spain emerges<br>and from every dead child a rifle with eyes,<br>and from every crime bullets are born<br>which will one day find<br>the bull's eye of your hearts.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And you'll ask: why doesn't his poetry<br>speak of dreams and leaves<br>and the great volcanoes of his native land?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come and see the blood in the streets.<br>Come and see<br>The blood in the streets.<br>Come and see the blood<br>In the streets!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Pablo+Neruda">Pablo Neruda</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476049" data-title="I'm Explaining a Few Things de Pablo Neruda" data-description="You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?
and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?
and the rain repeatedly spattering
its words and drilling them full
of apertures and birds?
I'll tell you all the news.

I lived in a suburb,
a suburb of Madrid, w..."></div>
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