Saturday, May 10, 2008

The Builder

The Builder
by Pablo Neruda

I chose my own illusion,
from frozen salt I made its likeness--
I based my time on the great rain
and, even so, I am still alive.

It is true that my long mastery
divided up the dreams
and without my knowing there arose
walls, separations, endlessly.

Then I went to the coast.

I saw the beginnings of the ship,
I touched it, smooth as the sacred fish--
it quivered like the harp of heaven,
the woodwork was clean,
it had the scent of honey.
And when it did not come back,
the ship did not come back,
everyone drowned in his own tears
while I went back to the wood
with an ax naked as a star.

My faith lay in those ships.

I have no recourse but to live.

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