Till Then My Windows Ache

(Photo Courtesy of Brian Uhreen.)

I adore Neruda. Everything about his poetry suggests to me he was filled with the purest love a man ever dared to experience. And he was extraordinarily gifted at expressing it in words. Everyone gushes about Love Sonnet XVII, and, though I love it, I have become increasingly agitated that no one pays the other sonnets any mind. Because I, too, feel lovelorn at the moment, I will share with you a gem. One of my many favorites from Neruda. Enjoy.

Matilde, where are you? Down there I noticed,

under my necktie and just above the heart,

a certain pang of grief between the ribs,

you were gone that quickly.

I needed the light of your energy,

I looked around, devouring hope.

I watched the void without you that is like a house,

nothing left but tragic windows.

Out of sheer taciturnity the ceiling listens

to the fall of the ancient leafless rain,

to feathers, to whatever the night imprisoned:

so I wait for you like a lonely house

till you will see me again and live in me.

Till then my windows ache.

 

 

~Pablo Neruda