if you read every word of this, in full contemplation of its beauty, you will be the better for it.

Your Laughter

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

Pablo Neruda

on the brainnumbing trainrides with woozy eyes and a slow mind, these days, i read not many words. reading poetry is like listening to music in your mind. i would only wish i could say them aloud in spanish for it sounds so romantic in its foreign-ness. reading neruda and listening to stina nordenstam in the same day over and over again equates to a very numbing (only numb? no other synonyms? bah to me, i can do no better than 'numb') feeling that pervades your system. it's a sort of detoxifying numbness that tries to contemplate what cannot be contemplated. but instead of going bah it gets more poetic. so poetic it's wordless i say. anyway tonight i wish for the radio in the morning to play ipod-ad-like upbeat tunes to fuel me for a morning run and then "i will burst out and run like a maniac to the stadium to the throb of the music peltering on me, snashing into me and finally in a motion of catharsis lift me up and i could be born again as the week begins" [to quote my own words tis' hilarious] and then i'll read neruda on the train again and listen to stina n. the whole day and get drunk on the aforementioned feeilng when i get home tomorrow. ha.