NOVELTY

21 March. International Day of Forests and Poetry.

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By AndaluNet on 20/03/2018

Homage to the poem Pablo Neruda qualified Born in Forests:

When the rice withdraws from land
grains of its flour,
when wheat hardens its little hips and lifts her
face a thousand hands,
the bower where women and men are linked I go,
to touch the innumerable sea
what continues.

I'm not Brother utensil born in the tide
as in a crib nacre combated:
not tremble in the region of the dying spoils,
do not wake up in the coup of frightened darkness
by hoarse petiole sudden bell,
I can not be, I am not the passenger
under whose shoes the last redoubts of the wind throb
and rigid return the waves of time to die.

I carry in my hand dove reclined sleeping in it-
milla
and his thick ferment of lime and blood
lives in August,
live the extracted month of his deep cup;
with my hand I rodeo new wing shadow grows:
root and pen to form the thick morning.

never declines, or by the balcony of iron hands,
or in the maritime winter of abandoned, nor in my step
late,
the immense growth drop, or eyelid wants
be opened:
because I was born to be born, to enclose the passage
of what approaches, how much my chest hits like a
new
trembling heart.

Recumbent lives with my suit as parallel pigeons,
or contained in my own life and in my messy
sound
to be re, to seize the naked leaf air
birth and wet land in the wreath: up
when
I must return and be, even when the smell
of the flowers buried, of the crushed waves
on high stones, keep me their homeland
for re-fury Perfume?

When the hand up in the rain forest
me coming with all its needles
to weave high foliage kisses?
Again
I hear approaching as fire in smoke
born of the earth ash,
light filled with petals,
and setting aside land
in a river of ears the sun reaches my mouth
as old buried tear returns to seed.