TOP SUNSET POMARICO
Cat's Dream
How neatly a cat sleeps,sleeps with its paws and its posture,sleeps with its wicked claws,and with its unfeeling blood,sleeps with all the rings--a series of burnt circles--which have formed the odd geologyof its sand-colored tail.
I should like to sleep like a cat,with all the fur of time,with a tongue rough as flint,with the dry sex of fire;and after speaking to no one,stretch myself over the world,over roofs and landscapes,with a passionate desireto hunt the rats in my dreams.
I have seen how the cat asleepwould undulate, how the nightflowed through it like dark water;and at times, it was going to fallor possibly plunge into the bare deserted snowdrifts.Sometimes it grew so much in sleeplike a tiger's great-grandfather,and would leap in the darkness overrooftops, clouds and volcanoes.
Sleep, sleep cat of the night,with episcopal ceremonyand your stone-carved moustache.Take care of all our dreams;control the obscurityof our slumbering prowesswith your relentless heartand the great ruff of your tail.
Pablo Neruda
In My Sky At Twilight
In my sky at twilight you are like a cloudand your form and colour are the way I love them.You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lipsand in your life my infinite dreams live.
The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,oh reaper of my evening song,how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!
You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon'swind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunderstills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.
You are taken in the net of my music, my love,and my nets of music are wide as the sky.My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.
Pablo Neruda
Love
What's wrong with you, with us, what's happening to us? Ah our love is a harsh cord that binds us wounding us and if we want to leave our wound, to separate, it makes a new knot for us and condemns us to drain our blood and burn together.
What's wrong with you? I look at you and I find nothing in you but two eyes like all eyes, a mouth lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful, a body just like those that have slipped beneath my body without leaving any memory.
And how empty you went through the world like a wheat-colored jar without air, without sound, without substance! I vainly sought in you depth for my arms that dig, without cease, beneath the earth: beneath your skin, beneath your eyes, nothing, beneath your double breast scarcely raised a current of crystalline order that does not know why it flows singing. Why, why, why, my love, why?
Pablo Neruda
Pictures taken By Spera Gerardo at Pomarico (Italy)
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