Landscape

I went saying goodbye

to many far-off things, and now

would like to gather up

the thread of those goodbyes,

go back to see lost eyes.

I don’t know if my present

melancholy will suit all:

I am disposed to share it out

in little round grains

around the camp,

on the knees of the roadway.

I want to see if pain increases,

the flowers of uncertainty,

indecision sorrow-laden:

I want to know what color

is the foliage of abandonment.

When one day the sun looks at you

like a tiger from its throne

and wants to force you to live

its willing condition,

I receive a lunatic blast,

despair of my gloom,

and when I was hoping less

I start sharing out sadness.

Pablo Neruda