It is mid summer, the sun, the heat, and the summer holiday have laid my city in a dull haze of calm and relaxation. I have submerged myself in this midsummer slumber and bought a new book of poetry, namely Pablo Neruda, and moved to a shaded spot under a large tree. To read his poems is to wander around in feelings of love and longing, sensuality and desire. In my mind I truly see the images of my own desire, and continue to enjoy the beauty of midsummer.
In You the Earth
Little
rose,
roselet,
at times,
tiny and naked,
it seems
as though you would fit
in one of my hands,
as though I’ll clasp you like this
and carry you to my mouth,
but
suddenly
my feet touch your feet and my mouth your lips:
you have grown,
your shoulders rise like two hills,
your breasts wander over my breast,
my arm scarcely manages to encircle the thin
new-moon line of your waist:
in love you loosened yourself like sea water:
I can scarcely measure the sky’s most spacious eyes
and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth.
P. Neruda
