Poetry

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Til then my windows ache

 

Matilde, where are you? Down there I noticed, 
under my necktie and just above the heart, 
a certain pang of grief between the ribs, 
you were gone that quickly. 

I needed the light of your energy, 
I looked around, devouring hope. 
I watched the void without you that is like a house, 
nothing left but tragic windows. 

Out of sheer taciturnity the ceiling listens
to the fall of the ancient leafless rain, 
to feathers, to whatever the night imprisoned: 

so I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me. 
Till then my windows ache. 

Pablo Neruda

In life and in hope there are certain windows that will remain perpetually open. -tM

Photography: Unknown | Italy