Fire

What a moment so musical

says to me an intelligent river

moving unto me its waters:

it diverts itself with its stones,

goes on singing its way,

whilst I all decided

look at it with eyes of fury.

Let us dedicate to disaster

one vaporous thought

as the matutinal world

dirty with celestial tears

raises a tree of vapor

that unfocuses the morning:

light suffers its own birth,

solitude mutinies

and now counts on nothing,

sky and earth cannot be seen

beneath the salty mist.

We exaggerate this topic

I said turning to the bonfire

dying out in the density

and with two laurel branches

arose a red flame

with a chestnut in the center,

and then the chestnut opened

teaching me the lesson

of its imprisoned sweetness

and I turned to being a citizen

who wants to read the papers.

Pablo Neruda