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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476066" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Nothing But Death</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There are cemeteries that are lonely,<br>graves full of bones that do not make a sound,<br>the heart moving through a tunnel,<br>in it darkness, darkness, darkness,<br>like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,<br>as though we were drowning inside our hearts,<br>as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And there are corpses,<br>feet made of cold and sticky clay,<br>death is inside the bones,<br>like a barking where there are no dogs,<br>coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,<br>growing in the damp air like tears of rain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes I see alone<br>coffins under sail,<br>embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,<br>with bakers who are as white as angels,<br>and pensive young girls married to notary publics,<br>caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,<br>the river of dark purple,<br>moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,<br>filled by the sound of death which is silence.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Death arrives among all that sound<br>like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,<br>comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no<br> finger in it,<br>comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no<br> throat.<br>Nevertheless its steps can be heard<br>and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,<br>but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,<br>of violets that are at home in the earth,<br>because the face of death is green,<br>and the look death gives is green,<br>with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf<br>and the somber color of embittered winter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,<br>lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,<br>death is inside the broom,<br>the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,<br>it is the needle of death looking for thread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Death is inside the folding cots:<br>it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,<br>in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:<br>it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,<br>and the beds go sailing toward a port<br>where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Translated by Robert Bly</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=476066" data-title="Nothing But Death de Pablo Neruda" data-description="There are cemeteries that are lonely,
graves full of bones that do not make a sound,
the heart moving through a tunnel,
in it darkness, darkness, darkness,
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,
as though we were drowning inside our hearts,..."></div>
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