Heart 

From the book Ballads and Self-Portraits

Translated by Amanda Castro

"There is no space broader than my pain"

Pablo Neruda

Heart, heart

Mixing words

Through those streets where I left my skin torn

And the violets feeding on the last drops of dew

Who understands you,

Heart, heart

Unsuspecting of your

Assassin’s intentions?

Who dictates to you

That torrent of blood

When the pain unravels

In the temple

Like thunders in May?

Heart, heart

Mixing thorns

Who forgives your

foolishness

Of having knocked down

With a celestial stone

My soul and the eternity I wanted for an instant?

Who says

That the air was not poisoned

On Monday January 9^th

And that since then

Your pupils are darker than Death’s

Smiling?

Heart, heart

Deaf are the poppies

And wide is the river of blood that runs

In my throat

Sweet is my pain

And it has been a long time since

I’ve been breathless enough

To come here and cry once more